


Bells, Books, and Candles

by spinner33



Series: Harry Potter Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-01-31 20:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 42,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12689880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: Snape wants to create a potion that will dampen Harry's charisma spell, but Harry would rather learn how to use the spell correctly. Harry tells Hermione and Ron about his trip to a new bookstore as they are going Christmas shopping to the same store.  Snape and Volkova are trying their best to protect Harry, but all for naught.





	1. The Bells

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains non-consensual sexual violence, slashy scenes, vampires, foreign words and phrases, voodoo Latin (it's sorta Latin), and various random acts of violence and humor. This story is not suited for all people or tastes. BIG THANK YOU to Penny for betaing. All remaining mistakes are my own.

“You got the pages?” Ron asked as Hermione hurried up to the Gryffindors crowded together in the snow-filled courtyard. The mystery of why Granger was making a jingling sound was solved when she pushed a heavy handbell into Ron’s grasp.

"Sure. Enough for everyone, I hope. If not, we can share.”

"Do we have to do this?” Seamus complained as he accepted one of the sheets that Hermione was thrusting around. Dean and Neville waited on the reply as well before either accepted a page.

“It’s worth ten extra points each,” Hermione reminded them. “Professor McGonagall said she would join us.”

“Who are we going to carol to? Slytherin?” Seamus laughed rudely. 

“It’s the last night before break. No harm in it,” Neville urged Seamus and Dean. “I can use all the extra points I can get.”

“Where do we start?” Ron asked, staring around. 

Hermione scanned around, at a slight loss. Hagrid came dragging a tree across the lawn right at that moment, followed by Professor Flitwick and Harry. Flitwick was floating several lit candles, and Harry was wrapped in yards of tinsel and garland.

“We’ll try it on them first,” Hermione decided, rushing towards them. The other students followed as if tethered to her. “Another voice is always welcome,” Hermione said, pulling Harry to her side and showing him the page. 

“I....my....voice...” he squeaked. 

You’ve been sounding much better all week,” she told him before he could weasel out of it. Ron quelled a chuckle and poked him in the arm.

“We’ll sound terrible together, and no one will know who to blame,” Ron urged him. “You have to. If you can’t sing, you can ring the bell,” he added, shoving the handbell at Harry. Unspoken in that was Ron’s feeling that if he had to make a fool of himself, everyone should also be obligated. Hagrid unwound the shining silver strands from around Harry’s robes, motioning for him to untangle the garland too. Harry was clutching it very tightly as if he didn’t want to give it up. Hagrid began to tug, and Harry let released it, nearly dropping the bell.

“Go on ahead, lad. Professor Flitwick and I will see that the tree is replaced. I wish we knew who was snatching them though,” Hagrid said. 

“Someone who doesn’t want a tree in that particular spot, it would seem,” Harry mused. 

“Tell us how we sound, and be honest,” Hermione said. The Gryffindors hummed a single note together and began to sing. Hagrid and Flitwick smiled anxiously but patiently– after all, they were wearing earmuffs. No matter how bad it actually was, and it was perfectly horrendous, they could keep on smiling. Two choruses later, Hagrid put up a hand and waved for them to halt. The singing stopped at different intervals, falling away like lumps of mangy hair.

“That’s lovely. Time to go. You lot should get inside out of the cold. Try the main hall, or the corridors. I think I see a light on in the dungeons,” he chuckled. Hagrid patted Harry on the head before shoving the children along.


	2. The Carol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The carol the students are singing is "Gabriel's Message" by Sting.

It was a dark and snowy night, right before Christmas Break. Alone in his workroom, bent over a table, Severus couldn’t imagine a better way to begin the holiday than with a potion bubbling happily along. He jotted down notes on the color and consistency, and let it continue to brew. His mission was to find a potion that would be able to dull Potter’s charisma spell, but not in any way impede Harry’s other magic, or interact negatively with the rest of the Canis Capellum that Harry needed to take for the remainder of December. So far, the task had eluded him. Potter had been a less-than-cooperative patient as well, so much so that every new potion had to be tested under the watchful eye of the Headmaster. Snape wondered where Potter was presently. Was it took soon in the evening to seek out his company? No, he chided himself. He needed solitude to work. The boy would simply distract him. 

The fumes were beginning to take on the desired effect– Snape felt muffled and fuzzy already. If he let this brew much longer, he would need to let the room air in some fashion, channeling wind through the fireplace or through a window mirrored from another floor. With a flick of his wand, the secret hallway door opened. It was then the faintest sound reached his precious lair. 

_The Angel Gabriel from Heaven came,_  
_his wings as drifted snow_  
_his eyes as flame_

_All hail, said he, the lowly maiden Mary_  
_most highly favored lady_  
_Glor-or-or-or-or-ia._

Severus paused. Surely he was hallucinating. He questioned his sanity in the half second of silence before another verse began.

_For known a blessed mother thou shalt be._  
_All generations laud and honor thee._  
_Thy son shall be Emmanuel,_

_my seers foretold,_  
_most highly favored lady_  
_Glor-or-or-or-or-ia._

Snape took the potion off the flames, and immediately winced from the intense heat of the vial. He hadn’t done something that foolish in his workshop since his first year in Potions. He put down his quill and seized up his wand once more. He prowled out into the hallway and to the outer corridor door. Who was responsible for this travesty? Caroling? Here?? In his dark and wonderful retreat? Who would do such an evil thing? Who was ringing that insipid and off-rhythm bell? Little by little, the merry sound grew more faint, and finally stopped entirely. Severus sighed with relief, until he reached the next junction and looked down to the right. 

The Potions Master encountered Harry Potter, standing in the middle of twenty other Gryffindors, and an odd Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. The boy was looking anxiously at the others, who were frozen in place with happily-distracted expressions on their vacant faces. A couple of them continued to hum, and seemed to be waiting for Harry to say or do something. They followed him with their eyes as he spun on one heel and faced Snape. 

“Mr. Potter?!” 

“Professor?” Harry gulped, eyes dropping to the floor. He quickly hid a handbell behind his back. 

“Who in HELL is CAROLING in my DUNGEON?” Severus hissed. 

“We were, sir, but we...um....I....I’ve done something to them, haven’t I?” he whispered, biting his lip. Severus snatched Harry out of the middle of the crowd and dragged him to the side of the corridor by one arm, jingling all the way. The mesmerized students followed Harry with their eyes. 

“Did I or did I not heavily suggest you avoid three things, Mr. Potter, until I could figure out how to dampen your charisma spell abilities?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Refresh my memory, Mr. Potter. What were those three things?” 

“Public speaking or singing, or running for political office.” 

“The third you may discount, because I was in all honesty kidding with you, but as for the other two---” 

“Public speaking or singing?” 

“—surely even you can stick to that simple request, can’t you?” 

“I tried to gracefully back out, but they said I had to come along,” Harry winced. “Besides, I want to keep the charisma spell. I keep telling you that, and you’re not paying attention to me. Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me? I want to keep the charisma spell! Why can't you teach me to use it?” 

“Mr. Potter, whyever do you suppose I don’t want you wandering around with the ability to sway people to your every whim with a mere glance?” Severus asked, getting dangerously close to Harry. 

Potter tilted his head and remained quiet, though the hint of a smile teased his mouth in a sexy way that made Snape very embarrassed suddenly. He was not so embarrassed that he dropped his usual modes of communication though. 

“What? Is a thought crossing your mind? Must be a long and lonely journey,” he murmured caustically. Potter pulled the handbell out and pushed it against Snape’s chest in order to make him back slightly away. 

“Professor, if I promise to refrain from singing, can I keep the charisma spell?” 

"No,” Snape hissed between his teeth. 

Professor McGonagall hurried up the corridor. She was drawing off her scarf and raising the flaps on her pointed deer-stalker. 

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed when she saw how the other students were standing around, gazing happily towards him. “You were caroling, weren’t you?” 

“Afraid so,” he admitted “Everything was going fine until the next thing I knew, I was the only one singing. What did I do?” 

Severus slid the sheet of music out of Harry’s grip and gave it to Professor McGonagall. 

“Mr. Potter, you and your dorm-mates will refrain from caroling in my dungeon,” Snape whispered in an acidic tone. 

McGonagall gave a small cackle, covering her mouth with one hand as her eyes twinkled. Harry and Snape glanced at her, blinking blankly. She laughed out loudly this time. What the heck was so funny, they wondered. 

“Refrain....carol....oh.....the both of you really need to lighten up,” she told them, annoyed as one can be when no one gets their weird jokes. She took out her wand and faced the other students. Her startle spell shook the narrow confines of their corridor like a clap of thunder. The students jumped back to life, shaking their heads in surprise. A silvery shower of pixie dust filtered through the air and settled slowly down on them all. 

“What happened?” Ron asked, taking Harry’s arm. Harry gave him the bell. 

“Nothing,” Potter lied, putting his hands in his pockets and keeping his eyes on the stone floor. 

“Severus, you’re just in time to join us,” McGonagall said sweetly. Snape produced his wand and aimed it at them all. They took a collective step back, and Minerva shielded the students with her arms protectively stretched out from her sides. 

“One peep, and the lot of you will be mute till spring,” he threatened. “Be off!” 

“Someone’s looking to get nothing but coal in his stocking this year,” Minerva whispered undertone as they all hurried away. McGonagall gave Snape a backwards glance that promised a scolding later. But that would be later, and right now, all Severus wanted some peace and quiet. The further away their merry sounds got, the better he felt. Solitude. That’s what he needed. Solitude. There was one thing standing in the way of his happy solitude though. 

“Mr. Potter? Why are you still here?” 

“You said I shouldn’t sing, remember?” Potter whispered, hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. 

“Surely you have something better to do with your time than stand around. Harry, don’t slouch,” Severus chided, manually straightening Potter’s shoulders and emptying his hands from his pockets with a quick tug on his elbows. 

“What are you doing down there that’s so important?” Harry asked. 

“I’m working on a dampening potion for you.” 

“May I tag along? See if I can talk you out of it? Perhaps distract you from your work?” 

“What?” Snape murmured dryly. Harry motioned in the direction of Snape’s secret lair. Severus ground his teeth, but he nodded. Harry led the way. 

“How do you feel about humming?” the boy asked softly. Severus needled him with a sharp look and gave him a small shove in the back. 

“How do you feel about being imprisoned in a glass jar for the rest of your days?” 

“Would I get a shelf with a view?” 

“No humming, Mr. Potter.” 

“Your Christmas spirit could use some exercise,” Harry teased. 

“Don’t toy with me,” Severus whispered. Harry gave a serious, thoughtful frown and went inside the workroom. 


	3. The Lab

Harry sat on a high-backed chair, trying to stay as much out of the way as possible. Snape moved around him left and right, having abandoned the first version of the potion in favor of starting a second batch with fresher ingredients.

“I was wondering,” Harry began. 

The silence was getting to him, and he had to say something. Snape raised his eyes from the potion and waited for him to go on. 

“Hermione and I are going to Hogsmeade in the morning for Christmas shopping. Ron’s got quidditch practice or he’d come along too. I’m after books, in particular, and knowing you’re looking to replace some of the ones that I accidentally damaged, I was going to suggest if you have a list, I could search for your titles if you like, if that isn’t too assuming of me.”

“I will give you a list by morning,” Snape promised, nodding his approval. “Hagrid is going with you, isn’t he? You do remember that both the Headmaster and I cautioned you about leaving school grounds alone.”

“Hermione will be there with me.”

“In spite of the high regard in which you hold Miss Granger, when we said you should not travel about alone, we meant you should have an adult with you at all times.”

“Hagrid is going to be busy tomorrow morning,” Harry said. “I asked him while we were getting out decorations. Someone keeps snatching the holiday trees from the Potions classroom. I’m surprised you haven’t reported them missing.”

“I didn’t report them missing because I don’t want one there, as I have told Hagrid when approached for my opinion. Yet what keeps appearing in my classroom every day? Another one of those trees. Why is he putting another one there? Classes have ended. There is no point to having holiday trees in all the classrooms if we’re not having classes.”

“What are you doing with the trees?” Harry worried.

“I’m taking them back into the forest and reattaching them to their stumps. But you may tell Hagrid for me that the next tree I find in my classroom is going to be shoved into a much darker and deeper place than the Forbidden Forest. I’m sure he’ll understand what I mean.”

Harry gave Severus a demonic elf smile.

“What?” Snape grumbled.

“I’m mentally picturing you versus Hagrid, trying to insert that tree where I suspect you might mean. I don’t want to upset you, but you’d be on the losing end of that venture. I’m guessing you’d be occupied a long while, retrieving all those pine needles out of your own arse.”

“Don’t be cheeky.”

“What do you have against Christmas trees?” Harry asked.

“First of all, it’s the Yuletide. It’s the Winter Solstice. It is the Saturnalia. Don’t call it Christmas. The holiday has precious little at all to do with Jesus Christ.”

“Thank you. I’ve had that speech already from Hermione. I understand the holiday has got roots much farther back than Christ, and is based on pagan holidays in several cultures, marking the winter solstice. Hermione said the Christian Romans incorporated the holidays of the cultures they conquered into their own religion, in order to make Romanization more palatable to the people they were trying to control. I get it. I’ve had that speech. I’m okay by whatever you want to call it, either of you. Yuletide Season. Can we call it that?”

“Yes, please, thank you,” Severus growled.

“Hermione is willing to go around caroling, and she’s a non-believer. It’s the spirit of the season, Professor, whatever you want to call the holiday.”

“Fine.”

“Now, why don’t we go back to the beginning, and you can tell me why you hate this holiday season so especially, Mr. Snape?”

“I don’t hate the Yuletide. It’s a time of great celebration.”

“He says while stabbing those bits of holly root with the point of the blade until they are screaming for mercy,” Harry persisted. Severus stopped mutilating his potion ingredients, and put the knife down. “I didn’t like Christmas, sorry, Yuletide, until I came to Hogwarts. I look forward to it now though. Ron’s mom sends me these really warm jumpers. I think my favorite part about Christmas is how embarrassed Ron is about his mom’s gifts. I love them, but he’s completely appalled when she sends them. Hope he doesn’t find out I send her yarn sometimes. Be careful, sir. You’re on the verge of smiling.”

“I don’t hate Yuletide. I’ll have you know, when I was a boy, it was my favorite holiday.” 

“Was?” Harry ventured. Even the most inattentive person would have read the pain that went across Severus’s face. Perhaps Potter had struck on something after all. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Snape. He was wanting to make conversation, and, admittedly, was trying to distract him from the charisma-dampening potion. “When were you a boy?” Harry grinned. Snape forgot all about his sadness, narrowing his eyes. 

“Potter, make yourself useful as well as ornamental. Get a sheet of parchment, an ink well, and a quill from the desk in the living room,” Severus murmured, picking up the knife and pointing with the blade tip. Harry climbed down from his chair and quickly returned with the specified items. “Start a list. No, start two lists.”

“All right,” Harry said, dipping the quill and bisecting the parchment page with a curvy line that ran from side to side instead of top to bottom. 

“The first list is “Books that Snape Would Like Replaced If Possible”.”

“All right,” Harry smiled, writing the words large enough that Severus could read them from the other side of the table.

“The second list is “Books that Snape Would Sell Body Parts to Possess.”

“Any parts in particular?” Harry replied, writing the words nonetheless.

“On the first list, put Nighttime Brews for Ones and Twos, Second Edition.”

“Done.”

“On the second list, put the same title, First Edition.”

“Why two editions of the same book?” Harry puzzled.

“The first edition has an error in one of the potions that makes it not a sedative to cure night terrors, but rather an anti-depressant that invokes night terrors. Caused quite a stir,” he mused, giving a wicked smile. Potter of course did not get the potions joke. Dull boy. Nice eyes though, Snape mused to himself. They were so easy to fall into, so easy to get distracted by. Like the finest silk, or the softest velvet. Soft like his skin. Soft like his mouth. Harry moved a particular bottle closer to Snape’s reach and went back to his lists, smiling to himself. Severus forgot briefly what he was working on, why he was even in the private lab. He shook his head, and stared accusingly at Potter, who quickly averted his eyes. 

“You’ve got a teacher’s compulsion about correcting everyone’s mistakes, haven’t you?” Harry stammered.

“Potter.”

“What?” 

“Stop it,” Severus warned him.

“What?” Harry defended, shrugging helplessly.

“How have your meetings with Doctor McGonagall been?” Snape asked. “You see her twice a month, I believe?”

“She wants to talk about all sorts of personal things. I’ve decided my job appears to be avoiding these topics with her, because no matter what I say, she’s going to read into it what she thinks she ought to be able to discern about me, if you know what I mean.”

“Not really,” Snape’s brow furrowed.

“Let’s take my socks, for example,” Harry said, pulling up one trouser leg to reveal a black wool sock and part of a bare shin with a few dark hairs. He pulled up his other trouser leg to reveal a red sock with golden snitches on it. As Snape stared at the sock, the snitches raced around in the pattern. “What do my socks tell you about my state of mental health?”

“I’m not sure I should guess,” Severus replied. Harry sat back down, straightening his clothes and robe. 

“Well, I’ll have you know I wore a very similar pair to my meeting with Doctor McGonagall last week, and she decided it meant I have a dark side, that I’m highly competitive, that I’m unconventional, that I have a problem obeying authority, that I believe I can make my own rules.”

“Hm,” the Potions Master said judiciously. Harry waited for Snape to further respond. When he didn’t, Harry’s face clouded with anger. 

“You don’t agree with her, do you?”

“On certain points, yes.”

“Just once, couldn’t you lie to spare my feelings?” Harry sulked. 

“I’m sorry, but my job is to tell you the truth, however unpleasant it might be.”

“You quite enjoy it too, being unpleasant.”

“Yes,” Snape admitted, glowing with a quick grin.

“All right, maybe some of those things are true,” Harry conceded begrudgingly. “But you have known me for how many years? You have a lot of personal experience on which to base your, may I say, utterly incorrect opinions of me. She has spent about six hours with me total, and she looks at my socks and tells me these things.”

“Harry, that’s her job to read signs you may not realize you’re sending.”

“Do you know why I’m wearing these socks?”

“I wouldn’t presume to guess.”

“I decided that life is too short to spend time matching socks and folding socks and sorting socks and stacking socks neatly in my sock drawer. Now, when the house elves bring me back clean clothes, I unfold all the socks, stuff them individually into the correct drawer, and draw out two per day, regardless of color, and put them on. Most of the time, I just stick my hand in the drawer and feel for two of them. I don’t even look.”

“All right,” Severus nodded, puzzling over the rising anger in Harry’s voice.

“I mean, if I’m going to die saving the world from Voldemort, do you really think he’s going to take one look at my socks and forget about killing me? I warrant he’s not even going to notice I’m wearing socks. He wouldn’t notice if I was wearing those rubber fishing pants that go up to there,” he said while he motioned to his waist. 

“Hip waders,” Snape supplied helpfully. The mental image of Harry Potter in said hip waders and nothing else went straight through Severus, and he was in turns both turned on and turned off.

“I don’t care how good you are, you can’t tell me you can read my psychological make-up by looking at my socks. That’s nothing but bollocks.”

Severus reached over and patted Harry gingerly on top of the head. The boy drew in a calming breath, dropping his anger mid-thought. 

“What were we talking about before you got us off on this tangent?” he asked.

“I don’t remember,” Severus said. 

“Did you know there’s a new bookstore going up across the street from Remy and me in Hogsmeade?” Harry smiled, his anger forgotten.

“Remy? Such familiarity,” Severus tisked.

“He said to call him ‘Remy’. It will make us better friends. More like peers.”

“Who is the proprietor of this new bookstore to be?”

“Can I call you ‘Snivs’ like he does?”

“Only if you want to be vivisected with a knife and fork. Who is the proprietor?”

“The sign on the door said Madam Grimwood,” Harry said. Vivisected? Yet another word he’d have to ask Hermione about.

“Modig Grimwood?” Snape stopped, putting down the knife for fear of slicing off a fingertip.

“Funny. Hermione had the same reaction. I believe she even began to slobber, but I told her over dinner, so it might have been the pot roast.”

“Modig Grimwood is back?”

“I’m not sure. The sign said Madam Grimwood. What’s the big deal?”

Severus took the potion off the fire, swept the holly root remains into a clay cup, and blew out the fire with a quick puff of air. He grabbed a waiting cloth and made quick work of cleaning his hands.

“Gather your notes.”

“Where are we going?”

“Hogsmeade. Grimwood’s Place.”

“It doesn’t open for another twelve hours,” Harry said.

“We’ll wait outside until she unlocks the door,” Snape decided, capping the ink well, and pulling Harry off the tall chair. “She will have a book with a potion that I can use to dampen your charisma spell. She will know what to do. She always does. I’ll be a moment. Wait here.”

“But I want to keep the charisma spell,” Harry said dully. “Are you not listening to me?”

“No.”

Harry watched, burning with curiosity, as Severus raced into his living quarters, scanned the currently neat and tidy bookshelves, and pulled five or six books off. He spelled them to fit into his cloak pocket, and rejoined Harry. 

“I like the charisma spell. Why can’t I keep it?” Harry asked. 

“Don’t just stand there!” Snape bellowed, grabbing Harry’s arm and rushing out of the secret workroom.


	4. The Walk

“So there we were, standing outside Grimwood’s new store,” Harry was telling Hermione the next morning as they walked through Hogsmeade with Dumbledore three steps ahead of them. Ron was trailing a few feet behind, flipping through a Quidditch magazine. Snow was falling, and drifts were swept about by a prevailing northerly breeze. 

“Yeah?”

“He knocked on the door. It was like eight at night, pitch black and snowing, and I was worried no one would come to the door at that hour. What was he playing at?”

“Snape had his nose stuck in a book at breakfast, so I’m guessing you got in,” Ron called out from behind. Weasley had had a sudden change of plans this morning after learning where Harry and Hermione were headed and why. 

“He was reading, and he had a stack of them next to his plate,” Hermione added. “They didn’t look like potions texts though.”

“This tiny woman came to the door. She had to be a hundred years old. She peeked out the keyhole at us. I assumed she was stooping over. No. She’s that tall. I swear to you. That tall,” Harry motioned waist-high. Hermione shook her head at him.

“She’s a midget, Harry. Like Professor Flitwick. What happened next?”

“Professor Snape lit up like you plugged him into the wall. She lit up too. Hugs and greetings ensued.”

“Snape hugged her?” Ron gasped.

“Kissed her on the cheek even,” Harry mused. “She brought us inside, set us down, gave us tea. It’s like she was expecting us. Then she shoved a book at me.”

“Yeah?” Ron said.

“Clairvoyant Techniques For Absolute Beginners,” Harry divulged. “She told me to make myself comfortable next to the fire, because Severus Snape was going to need two hours and forty-eight minutes to find the books he came here to find, and I was not to interrupt him with meaningless, time-consuming chatter.”

“What did you do?” Hermione wanted to know.

“I started reading and kept my mouth shut,” Harry answered. Dumbledore paused to let a horse sled go by, and smiled patiently back at the children. 

“I mentioned the store to Professor McGonagall. Grimwood has been in Hogsmeade before, keeps the store open a year, maybe two, but disappears without notice for years and years. Without much notice, she reappears, opens another store, and so on,” Hermione revealed. 

“Brigadoon Library, at your service,” Ron laughed, closing his magazine.

“How long were you there?” Hermione asked Harry.

“Two hours and forty-eight minutes.”

“What did Snape buy?”

“He didn’t buy anything.”

“He had a stack of books this high,” Hermione said shrilly. 

“You don’t use money in the store.”

“What? No money?” Ron puzzled.

“He brought books to her, and traded them for the books he wanted.”

“I didn’t bring any books,” Hermione paled.

“Don’t worry. You can go in and read them there, free of charge. Tea and biscuits provided to every customer.”

“I don’t care about tea and biscuits. You didn’t tell me I needed to bring books!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Relax, Miss Granger,” the Headmaster said, patting her shoulder. “Madam Grimwood will make allowances. The currency in her store is knowledge, written or spoken.”

“Oh,” Hermione calmed visibly. “Okay,” she smiled brightly. 

“How does she make money doing business that way?” Ron asked.

“Dunno,” Harry replied. “Maybe she doesn’t need the money?”

“Everyone needs money,” Ron laughed.

“Maybe she married rich,” Harry shrugged.

“Maybe she made the money herself,” Hermione said sharply to Harry.

“Maybe she prints it in the basement,” Harry retorted. “I don’t know. Lighten up, Hermione.”

“Snape kept you out till almost midnight to get books?” Ron said, raising a brow at Harry.

“We had a cup of tea at the house, and came back by Floo,” Harry said. “Weren’t you asleep when I came in?”

“Mostly,” Ron evaded. “You got to the bookstore at eight, where you stayed almost three hours. Why did it take you an hour to have tea at your house and Floo back to Hogwarts?”

Harry stared blandly at Ron, and let the question go unanswered. Really, if Harry told Ron that he and Snape had sat at the kitchen table, drinking their tea, discussing why Lupin had bought the house, and how they had gotten their things inside, and why they were saving a bedroom for Sirius, Ron would have never believed him. Severus had very delicately handled the question that no one had yet asked Harry-- What if Remus never returned? Would Harry keep the house? Would he consider other living arrangements? What was he going to do after he graduated Hogwarts? Although Harry had no snappy answers, Severus hadn't been disdainful or sarcastic about Potter's lack of planning. Snape had toured the house with Harry, asking about the wards, giving suggestions about what to do with the pie-shaped four-story place if, goodness forbid, Harry was left to make the decisions on his own. Harry had enjoyed that talk last night. He had really enjoyed riding back in the Floo with Severus, coiled up inside the Potions Master's cloak, nestled against his side. 

“Look at that line!” Hermione exclaimed as they rounded a corner. 

“Lots of anxious bookworms?” Ron asked, hurrying her around so he could see.

“No. There’s like three people,” she replied. “Oh! They’re going inside! Hurry!”

“She said last night that the first day is by appointment only,” Harry smiled. Hermione went pale again, and her knees wobbled.

“We’ve come all this way, and we won’t be able to get in?” she fretted.

“Don’t worry,” Dumbledore said as Harry and Ron supported their friend, one with each arm. “I have our invitation right here. You’ll be happy to note she mentioned each of you by name,” he added, handing the ivory notecard to Hermione. “Right there. In red letters. Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter.”

“She knows who we are?” Hermione gasped. 

“Naturally,” Dumbledore replied. “Relax. Please.”

“How did Snape get in before us?” Hermione wanted to know.

“He told her it was an emergency situation,” Harry said. “But she was expecting us, I tell you. She was expecting us.”


	5. The Books

“Headmaster Dumbledore, wonderful to see you,” the tiny, portly woman said, opening the door with a beckoning smile. “Mr. Potter– my first repeat customer.”

“Good to see you as well, Madam Grimwood. How was China?” Albus asked.

“Splendid.”

“Tunisia?”

“Arid.”

“New Zealand?”

“Mountainous.”

“Mexico?”

“I learned a terrific recipe for chicken molé.”

“Alaska?”

“Peaceful.”

“St. Petersburg?”

“I haven’t had good vodka since.”

“Sweden?”

“Lots of requests for warming spells.”

“Here you are again, in our corner of the world. So nice to see you. Seems like just yesterday.”

“No time for reminiscing. Bring the children in before they freeze. Tea and biscuits are by the fire in the Modern Era Room. Books are divided by topic into different rooms. Rooms are divided by centuries on each floor. The further up you go, the farther back you’ll be. If you need the Headmaster or myself, you’ll find us on the top floor, in Ancient History.”

“Why is Ancient History on the top floor?” Harry asked.

“You get a better view from there,” Grimwood answered. 

“Where is Science Fiction?” Hermione asked. The others gasped as if she had used dirty words, except Harry, who snickered behind his hand. 

“In the basement,” Grimwood told her. “A word of caution, Mr. Weasley. Do take care where you step in the Dark Arts Room.” 

With that, the Headmaster and Madam Grimwood vanished up the winding stairs and onto the second floor landing. Their feet could be heard as they progressed higher and higher. Hermione took off her coat and put it on the hall tree next to a reddish-plaid coat, a gray trench coat, and the black velvet cloak which were already there. Footsteps sounded directly overhead. There were other people in the store clearly. 

“How many rooms are there, do you suppose?” Hermione whispered reverently.

“How many topics can you imagine?” Harry asked. Hermione absolutely sparkled with sudden happiness.

“We’ll never leave the store, will we?” Ron moaned. Hermione shot him a dirty look. It could have been the start of another fight if Harry hadn’t paused in the process of taking off his coat. He ran one hand experimentally over the black cloak.

“Is Snape back already?” Hermione asked, vibrating with jealousy. Harry knew it was completely a matter of worrying that Snape would find a book she wanted to read first. He hadn’t realized before now how very similar in personality his best female friend and his Potions Master were. He wondered who would be more insulted by the comparison. 

“Not his,” Harry said.

“Good,” Ron muttered. Harry ignored the ice in the word.

“Whose is it?” Hermione wanted to know. Harry lifted the cloak, savoring the feel of it between his fingers. 

“You don’t believe in clairvoyance. A wooly discipline, you said once,” Ron commented to Hermione. Granger hushed him.

“That was different. It wasn’t Harry,” she said.

“The cloak is Volkova’s,” Potter smiled wickedly.

“Are you sure?” Weasley whispered, leaning in closer. Harry pulled the cloak inside his own coat, and headed for the front door.

“Where are you going?” Hermione whispered nervously. Ron took hold of Harry’s arm.

“Is that such a good idea?” Ron asked. 

“I’ll be right across the street,” Harry defended. 

“You’re not supposed to be out alone. The Headmaster said,” Hermione reminded him.

“Go have some tea and biscuits,” Harry urged them. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, you can run across the street and bust into the house.”

“What are you going to do with Volkova’s cloak?” Ron smirked. “Should we wait longer than ten minutes?”

“It’s not going to involve nudity or body fluids,” Harry fussed, heading out into the snowfall. Ron and Hermione watched from the open door until Harry reached the front entrance of his house across the street. He had had to push his way through the growing crowds headed for the stores. Ron closed the door to Grimwood’s shop, assured that Harry had reached his destination.

“What should we do?” Hermione worried.

“Go have tea and biscuits. He’ll be right back,” Ron said.

“What do we do if Professor Volkova comes looking for her cloak?” 

“We tell her someone must have taken it by mistake,” Ron shrugged.


	6. The Cloak

The cloak was smooth black velvet on the outside, and lined with a silky black fabric that had a surface like liquid. Harry held Volkova’s cloak in his arms, trying his best to hide it under his own coat as he hurried along. He looked vaguely like a skinny pregnant woman with the bulge under his coat. Volkova’s cloak even smelled like her, Harry decided, burying his nose in the shoulder and collar when he pulled the material free again. It was all sweet and clean. He really shouldn’t be enjoying the feeling of sneaking away with her things, but his heart was skipping around with excitement. He’d been waiting for weeks for her to leave something personal lying around so he could get a reading on her. Weeks on end! Well, okay, maybe not several weeks, but at least since she had given him a massive mental zing for trying to read her hand when they had had dinner with Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape at the end of November. 

People were beginning to crowd into Hogsmeade’s streets. The Christmas rush was in full swing. The air was crisp and cold, and the snowfall was heightening the pleasant mood of the people that were running about, ready to shop with great enthusiasm. Harry still had shopping to do. But that could wait until later today. For now, he was going to be all alone with Professor Volkova’s cloak, and he was going to get to the bottom of her reasons for being at Hogwarts, and what she wanted with him.

Harry reached the entrance to his place, and glanced back to see Ron closing the door to Grimwood’s store. This was actually a back entrance to the house, the front side being on the far side against the residential area, rather than here in the merchant district. The curve of the block on the back side was tight and small, and that made the opposite end of the house much more spacious and wide. It was a quirky-shaped house, and that’s what Harry liked about it. He felt the wards open to admit him, recognizing that he was allowed in. Maybe he was imagining it, but he always sensed Lupin’s magic in the wards– open and loving to him. Harry tugged on the door knob, but nothing happened. How very odd. Remus had spelled the knob to activate at his touch, allowing him entrance without a key. Harry gripped the knob more firmly, and gave it a small shake. 

“Alohomora,” he murmured.

The knob simply would not budge. Harry threw Volkova’s cloak up over his shoulder and dug around for his wand. He tapped it on the door, and the knob spell engaged. It rotated freely when he touched it again.

“Finally,” Harry muttered, pushing his way into the dark house. He turned to close the door. Someone flattened him mercilessly against the wood. He felt as if his very breath was sucked out of him. The lights went out, and Harry collapsed down into the over-powering grip that was surrounding him.

When he came to seconds later, he was sprawled on the kitchen floor. The door was closed, and the bar had been lowered. The thin window that faced the street was covered in snow. The wintery world outside the panes glowed distantly. Harry’s glasses were gone, leaving everything in a blur. A dark shadow moved over him, seized him around the waist, and began to drag him in the direction of the cold fireplace.

Harry exploded with the sudden energy born of fear for his life, searching for his wand as he flailed against the person holding onto him. A stolen second glancing up told him he was perilously close to being dragged to the portal. He couldn’t find his wand! It was gone! It wasn’t in his clothes anywhere.

“Accio wand!” Harry exclaimed, holding out his hand. The pocket of the person holding onto him jumped and danced. Harry immediately made a grab for the pocket in question. There wasn’t enough time to get his wand free. They had reached the aperture. The cold stones were scraping Harry’s knees. Potter got a firm grip on one row of bricks, planted both feet on the ground, and wrenched his body free. He dashed for the staircase ten feet away but never got there.

A silently-cast spell hit Harry, and his body went numb. Although his mind was alive, and filled with panicked commands to move, his limbs did not obey. He pitched forward onto the stairs, and the form in black moved over him, covering his eyes with one hand. Another silent spell was cast. This one blinded him. 

Hands lifted Harry around the waist. It felt like a man’s grip. He didn’t know why, but the idea of it being a man frightened him much more than if it had been a woman. Harry opened his lips to scream, and a hand moved over his mouth, muffling his voice. Harry dug in hard with his teeth. The hand left his mouth. There was a hard thump against the back of his head. Harry took a deep breath and would have screamed for all of Hogsmeade to hear if the hand hadn’t covered his mouth yet again.

“Shhhhh,” the sinister whisper tickled like ice down Harry’s spine. 

Harry was dragged further up the stairs. His body was draped on a horizontal surface– too close to the ground floor to be his own bedroom. They must have been in Lupin’s room. Oh no. Remy was going to be so angry. The hands tugged his limbs outward and open. Harry quivered as he imagined what he must look like, spread-eagle and vulnerable. If he hadn’t already been immobilized by magic, he would have probably been too terrified to move. 

One hand stayed over his mouth, and the second cupped first over his mid-section and then secreted around to grasp him by the ass. A body covered his, too heavy to bear for long. He could feel the blunt gouge of an erect cock pressing through two sets of clothes first into his thigh and secondly directly between his legs, against his own cock. For a strange moment, he was positive he recognized a scent in the air. A thick nose pressed to his neck. The man moaned as if in pain or torment, and the reverberation went through Harry’s body. It was then a deep, familiar voice filled his ear.

“Are you scared, Mr. Potter?”

Harry’s voice returned when the hand left his mouth.

“Damn it, Snape! Get off of me!” Potter howled angrily, his fury overriding his fear when he recognized who had captured him. “Undo these spells!”

“Why should I?”

“I can’t move! I can’t see!”

“That’s the point,” Snape whispered, his smooth voice causing a rush of pleasure to go down Harry’s spine again, washing away the terror from before. 

“Let me go, now,” Harry demanded impatiently. “Where are my glasses? Give me back my wand!”

“You haven’t answered my question. Are you scared?”

“No. It’s you.”

Snape voiced his disapproval in a nasty hiss, and let his hands roam slowly over Harry’s vulnerable frame. 

“That’s simply not good enough. What are you going to do? How are you going to defend yourself?”

“You proved your point, all right?”

“No, it’s not all right!” Severus raised his voice. He crushed the young man’s frame with his own. “How are you going to defend yourself, Mr. Potter?”

“Just get off me,” Harry snarled.

“What are you going to do?” Snape asked. He yanked open Harry’s coat and began to lift the young man’s sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?” Harry laughed nervously. A painful bite bloomed wet under his right ear.

“This does not feel like fear,” Snape growled, his hand covering Harry’s hardening cock, giving it a leisurely squeeze. Harry wondered how he was responding there if the rest of his body was immobilized. That didn’t make any sense. Because he was breathing and his heart was beating, the logical part of his brain reasoned that whatever spell Snape had used must have stopped voluntary but not involuntary movement. The logical part of his brain stopped functioning shortly after that though. 

“Stop,” Harry gasped. “Severus, please.”

“Begging for mercy will not do here. You are beyond mercy. Who do you think you’re dealing with?”

“Severus, cut it out.”

“Since when is it appropriate for you to call me by my first name, Mr. Potter?”

“Professor, stop.”

“Repeat after me, Mr. Potter. ‘I will not wander alone ever again, Professor Snape’.”

“I will not....not....oh,” Harry shivered as Snape bit his neck on the left side. Snape’s mouth moved lower, not with bites but with careful kisses and licks. His tongue brushed Harry’s vampire scars, and a shudder went through them both. 

Harry concentrated his clairvoyance on Snape, and was consumed by the intensity of the lust burning through Severus. The man was literally burning with the need to continue licking every single inch of Harry until the young man was panting with pleasure. He wanted to take his cock in his mouth. He wanted Harry’s fingers curled in his hair, wanted the teen’s legs open wide in submission. Harry could see Severus imagining (remembering?) running his hands between Harry’s legs, watching his thighs part, watching his face warm with redness as his mouth opened around a moan when Snape caressed his balls. Severus was remembering this? When the hell had that happened?? Harry tried to concentrate harder, but Severus pushed him out of his mind, out of those thoughts. 

“ ‘I will not wander alone ever again, Professor Snape’. That’s what I want you to say,” the Potions Master tormented him with another heated whisper, letting his tongue brush Harry’s ear lobe. 

“I will not,” Harry managed but he stopped when he felt fingers pushing his shirt up to his neckline. A mouth moved over his left nipple, the tip of the tongue teasing him. 

“ ‘I will not wander alone ever again, Professor Snape’,” Severus repeated, leaving a trail of bites down Harry’s chest clear to his navel. Harry wasn’t sure for one insane minute whether Snape was trying to punish him or reward him, and he was fairly certain Severus couldn’t decide either. He was teaching Harry a lesson, but it might not have been the lesson he had intended his pupil to learn. 

“I will not wander.....ohhh....” A tongue tickled his navel, lapping hungrily. Harry took one breath, and exhaled it shakily. Arms went under Harry’s shoulders, then hands caressed his back along his spine. Bites and licks moved down his neck. Snape sucked Harry’s vampire scars, and Potter gave up any hope of hiding his need after that. He mewed his approval as rather-knowing fingers found a spot in his back that made his temperature rise exponentially. Those long fingers found their way briefly down inside the back of his trousers, moving over his tail bone, up and back and around teasingly. Harry forgot how to breathe for several seconds. Severus nibbled on Harry’s ear, and put his tongue inside again. 

“Harry....Mr. Potter.....the next Death Eater who knocks you unconscious and renders you immobile is not going to...not going to...” Severus tried to explain, but Harry groaned out loudly, drowning out whatever Snape was saying. “Promise me you will not wander alone ever ever ever again, Harry.”

All Potter could manage were surprised, lusty groans as Snape punctuated each ‘ever’ with a thrust between Harry’s legs. Snape forgot himself briefly. A wet mouth captured Harry’s ear. A tongue darted inside briefly, and moved from there down Harry’s cheek. At last, their mouths joined, and Severus stroked Harry’s back while sucking on his tongue. The dark feelings and desires that had built up inside Harry’s body surged out of him as if he’d been exorcized.

“Finite Incantata,” Snape whispered, lying down on the young man again with his full weight. He moaned with frustration, his voice more silky than Volkova’s cloak had ever been. 

Now that he could move again, Harry wrapped his arms up around Snape’s back and captured one thigh with both legs. He nuzzled his way under Severus’s chin, venturing one delicate, tentative kiss. 

“Do it again,” Harry pleaded, his voice a wish, a whisper. “Please. Please. I want more. Oh, please.”

“Mr. Potter.”

That was all Snape had to say to make his position perfectly clear to Harry. Potter meekly uncoiled his limbs from around his Potions Master. The professor raised himself up on one arm to get a better vantage from which to glare down at his shortsighted pupil. 

“It can’t be you actually enjoyed that, did you?” Snape asked after an uncomfortable silence. There was no humor in his voice whatsoever, and his face was a mask. But Severus wasn’t fooling Harry for a second. Potter had felt Snape’s lust even if the man couldn’t admit to it himself. So how often was Severus fantasizing about giving Harry head? When exactly had Snape been caressing Harry so familiarly?

“Sadistic bastard,” Potter whispered. “I could make you do whatever I want, you know?” Harry threatened unwisely.

“So could I,” Severus gave a dark, mirthful reply while he covered those hungry green eyes with one hand. “Damn it, Harry. Don’t wander alone. I promise you, the next time someone grabs you in the dark, it’s not going to be the makings of one of your naive sexual fantasies.”

“Why don’t you get off me so I can go change my clothes?” Harry replied acidly.


	7. The Fireplace

“Harry, it’s lucky for you that Professor Snape appeared when he did,” the Headmaster was saying. Harry lifted his cup of tea to his lips, sipping the hot liquid. He wondered vaguely how amused Dumbledore would be if he knew Harry had had to change his underwear before returning to the bookstore. Would the Headmaster be curious how long it had taken Snape to come out of the restroom off Lupin’s room while Harry was changing upstairs in the attic? Across the Modern Era Room, Severus raised his dark eyes from his book. They shone with wicked humor and honest annoyance. 

“Mr. Potter will not wander alone again, Headmaster. Will he, Mr. Potter?”

“No, sir,” Harry intoned.

“Not even across the street,” Snape added. “Will he, Mr. Potter?”

“No, sir,” Harry growled, gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes at Snape. 

“That’s enough, both of you,” Dumbledore smiled. “I’m going to escort Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley back to the school, once they have finished their shopping in town. I trust you and Professor Volkova can see Harry safely back to Hogwarts before nightfall?”

“Yes, sir. We will,” Volkova answered. She was standing in front of the Magical Weapons shelf, caressing the spines very lovingly. She spotted Blunt Objects: Practical Uses, and grinned to herself. Harry had his mind on blunt objects of a different sort. He was also smiling to himself for a half-second. Snape caught him smiling, and snarled at him. Harry snarled back. Harry drank his tea, hoping Dumbledore wasn’t reading their minds. 

“Where are Hermione and Ron?” Potter asked, looking around.

“I believe I saw them heading for the Dark Arts Room,” Volkova said. “An alarm of some sort sounded. Madam Grimwood went to investigate.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Shortly before you and Professor Snape burst in cursing at each other,” she answered. 

“He was dragging me by my hair,” Harry defended.

“Be glad I chose a northerly hand-hold,” Snape interjected, coming over and sitting down in the chair beside Potter’s. “More tea?” he said, filling Harry’s cup before he could answer yes or no. He filled a cup for himself as well. “Sugar?” He plunked three cubes into the china, and Harry held his cup steady, fuming at the Potions Master. Snape’s face curled with maliciousness, which Dumbledore didn’t see as Snape had his back to the Headmaster. “Cream?” Severus asked innocently. Potter jerked his cup away.

“No,” Harry growled, blushing hotly. He licked droplets of sloshed tea off the back of his hand. Immediately fascinated, Severus drank in the vision of that darting, pink tongue before quickly looking away. He had already poured too much cream into his own cup though. 

“You two mind your manners before Madam Grimwood throws you out,” Dumbledore said. Modig was returning with two bruised and battered teens in tow.

“Here you are. Safe and sound. Mr. Weasley got a step too close, and the Curse Wall let him have it. Miss Granger was caught in the crossfire. But they’ll be as good as new once they have caught their breaths.”

“The books were attacking us,” Ron muttered. Hermione straightened her disarrayed hair, pulling her left shoe back on. Ron had the distinct imprint of a canvas cover and a ninety degree angle on his right cheek. 

“Never met a more uncivilized library in all my life,” Hermione complained.

“If you want a real thrill, next time you come, you can have five minutes in the Jungle Room,” Grimwood teased. “Sorry about the lumps. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got sorting and reshelving to do.”

“We’ll see you at Hogwarts before nightfall,” Dumbledore repeated to Snape. Severus nodded.

“Why is Harry staying?” Ron asked, narrowing his eyes at Snape.

“Because Harry’s not done shopping,” Potter replied. 

Dumbledore led Hermione and Ron away in spite of their protests. A burst of snowflakes filled the air as they left the store. Harry sipped his tea in silence. Volkova brought her book, and sat in the chair on Harry’s other side. Harry experienced a weird, discordant familiarity with the tableau of the three of them here and now, the feeling of sitting in front of the fire with a fatherly man and a motherly woman on either side of him. He knew with certainty he would be doing it again. Oddly enough, he knew it would be with Volkova and with Snape, maybe even in front of this same fireplace. He couldn’t quite put his mind around the specifics. Searching through space and time was like studying the shadows of leaves in bright sunlight. He couldn’t identify the specific leaves from their shadows alone. He shook his head, and drank another gulp.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said after two minutes’ silence. “This is not an ‘eat biscuits and drink tea’ store.”

Harry needled Severus with a sharp gaze. 

“Mr. Potter, get a book,” Snape ordered, not looking up from his page.

Harry took another drink of tea, ignoring Severus. It proved to be the fastest way to spike the Potions Master’s blood pressure. Well, perhaps the second fastest way, Harry mused, licking a neglected drop of tea off his wrist. 

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said ominously. 

“I can highly recommend the magical weapons books,” Volkova said, standing again. She retrieved a peacock-blue book and gave it to Harry. Potter held it on his lap, and went for another biscuit. A hand grasped his, and held on tight. He dropped the biscuit in several pieces. 

“Mr. Potter, I want to hear pages turning. I want to see your eyes moving. I want to imagine the little voice in your head sounding out the tough syllables in the very big words. Do I make myself clear?”

Snape let go of Harry’s hand. Harry set his cup aside, picked up the book Volkova had given him, and climbed to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Volkova asked.

“Jungle Room.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to find out how to dig a tiger pit in a dungeon,” Harry replied, taking the book with him as he left to Modern Era room.


	8. The Post Office

“I see Madam Grimwood let you have a book,” Snape said to Harry as they trudged around in the ankle-deep snow, trying to keep warm as night was falling. 

“Yes,” Harry said, handing the brown-paper-wrapped package to Severus. All afternoon, Severus had been trying to make up for snapping at the boy (to say nothing of pinning him helpless to Remus Lupin’s bed and making him come all over himself). All afternoon, Harry had rebuffed the attempted apology, until now. Snape delicately unwrapped the seam that concealed the spine, moving imperceptibly closer to Potter. He wanted to smell Harry. He wanted to drink him in like the finest incense. If it were at all socially-acceptable, Snape would’ve grovelled at his feet and begged forgiveness. Severus wanted to pull Harry into one of these dark alleys, push him against a wall, and go down on him right there. He had come so close this afternoon. Too close. Had he frightened the boy? Had he hurt the boy? No. Far worse. He had bruised his pride. Harry had been sulking like an offended feline. 

“What is taking that woman so long?” Snape wondered, shifting his feet as Volkova bustled around the post office. He was actually happy that Anna was inside. She had spent much of the day glued to Snape, staying as close to him as possible to insure he would not have any time alone with Harry. Time alone with Harry was the only thing that Severus truly couldn’t get enough of lately. 

This afternoon was only a small taste of what had been building up in Snape all month, a direct consequence of having had Harry all to himself for November and the extreme, oppressive loneliness that had set in when the boy had returned to Gryffindor Tower. Snape had spent December giving Harry detention after detention, until such time as Harry finally had started showing up at his office around eight purely out of habit. Potter brought his homework, and quietly occupied a chair in front of the desk as Snape graded homework at the desk. Harry stayed until bedtime, and left with a casual ‘bye’ each night. There had been evenings where they didn’t say a single word to each other beyond ‘hello’ and ‘bye’. 

Potter was taking minute doses of the anti-vampire potions until January, and that gave Snape something of an excuse to have the boy around him, but he wanted him constantly in his presence, where he could keep an eye on him, protect him, study him, collect him, and quietly adore him. Snape stopped giving Potter detentions, and Harry still showed up. All seemed right with the world. Had they reached an agreement? Did Harry understand why Severus wanted him there? It was their private time, their private world. 

“They seem to be negotiating the price,” Harry commented, watching Snape pull the paper off the book.

“Why did Madam Grimwood give you this?” Severus asked.

Harry puzzled. “Blunt Objects: Practical Uses? Why did she give me this? Maybe Volkova is mailing my clairvoyance manual,” Harry worried, putting his face against the window. Anna was selecting a very large owl for the package she wanted delivered. 

“No. I’ve never seen Madam Grimwood make a mistake. If she gave you this book, you’re going to need it,” Snape assured Harry grimly. “Besides, Volkova was in the Renaissance Art section. She dragged me up there to ask if I thought a particular book was too advanced for a first-year student.”

“Is Madam Grimwood clairvoyant?” Harry asked, peeling his face off the window.

“In as far as books and where needed, yes,” Snape replied. “She even left you a message,” Sev added, flipping open the cover. Harry picked up the brown paper that Snape had dropped. He folded it in four and put it inside the book.

“ ‘To Harry Potter from Modig Grimwood. Be creative!’ What kind of message is that?”

“Cryptic,” Snape mused, turning pages. “ ‘In your everyday life, you are literally surrounded by deadly weapons. Wherever you go, there are sharp corners, spiky sticks, and a myriad of everyday objects that can aid you in your time of need. The purpose of this book is to help you determine which objects suit which needs, and the most expedient means to the desired end of your sticky situation. We are going to help you get friendly with your animal side. You may not think a wizard needs anything but a wand. But there always comes a time when you are separated from your wand, and then where will you be? Let go of your inhibitions and let’s talk about those three special words we all know and love– BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA!’”

“Are you making that up?” Harry asked, suppressing a disturbed laugh.

“How I wish I were. I can’t believe Madam Grimwood gave you such a book. I’m going to have to talk to Dumbledore about this.”

Harry scrunched up against Snape’s side, and flipped several pages, reaching the Table of Contents, where he read a few chapter titles.

“Friend or Foe. Dead or Alive. Maim or Mangle. Holy Toledo,” Harry laughed, taking the book from Severus. He turned to the beginning of Chapter One– Just Another Naked Ape. “ ‘Clear your mind and consider the object in your hands’.”

Harry closed the book and turned away from Snape, holding it at arm-level for about ten seconds before reopening to the same page and facing him again.

“ ‘If the first thing that came to your mind was ‘What a lovely book’, we have a lot of work to do. However, if the first thought that sprang up was ‘Four odd pounds, flat object with sharp sides, capable of delivering any number of death blows’, congratulations, you’ve found the book you need’.”

“Hmm,” Snape murmured.

“What was the first thing you thought?” Harry asked him.

“That Madam Grimwood hasn’t lost her somewhat erratic sense of humor. When I was your age and I asked her for a manual on clever dating techniques, she gave me an animal trapping guide. What did you first think?”

“That we’d better get ourselves back to Hogwarts as quickly as possible,” Harry said.

“A very prudent assumption,” Snape agreed, taking out his wand. “Go hurry her along, will you?”

Severus pushed Harry inside the post office, and then glued his dark eyes to the street, cataloging each and every person who passed by.


	9. The Chase

“You two are making me nervous,” Volkova said, her boots crunching in the snow. Each happy jingle of every silvery bell was making Harry’s eyes dart around. He was already breathing as if he’d run a marathon. Snape was walking backwards, with one hand on Harry’s person at all times. 

“Walk faster,” Snape whispered. “Stay calm, Mr. Potter.”

“Why don’t we use the Floo at Mr. Potter’s house?” Volkova asked, minimizing her packages, and slipping them inside her baggy trousers. 

“Too risky,” Snape answered. “What if they’ve already managed to by-pass the wards and get into the house? We will only go to the house as a last resort.”

“Remy spent a whole month on those wards,” Harry defended.

“I was able to break them inside ten minutes,” Snape replied.

“Wish I knew where my cloak was,” Anna muttered.

“In my house. Sorry,” Harry stammered. Volkova dug in her other pocket and drew out a red string. With a flip of magic, the red string expanded into a fluffy muffler, which she wove around her neck, the ends extending down to her waist.

“Great. You can bring me hot tea when I catch pneumonia,” she murmured to him.

“Where are we going? Why are you two so nervous?”

“Madam Grimwood gave Mr. Potter a book,” Snape revealed. He circled around to the other side of the street, pulling Harry along. Volkova followed, looking both ways before joining them in the shadows.

“What book did she give you, dear?” Volkova asked.

“Blunt Objects: Practical Uses,”Harry shivered. Anna dug in her pockets, withdrawing her everyday wand.

“That changes matters,” she agreed. “Where are we going?”

“Hogwarts,” Harry said, his brow darkening.

“Don’t be snide. You’re spending too much time with him,” she said as she pointed to Snape and gave a grim smile. “Do you have the book?” Anna asked. Harry peeled it out of his cloak and gave it to her. Volkova tapped the book with her wand. 

“What are you doing?” Snape asked.

“Unlocking the book. Harry, hold the book tightly in both hands, and don’t lose your grip on it. It should act as a training manual for you. You stay between Severus and I, and try not to clobber us as you swing, okay, love?”

Harry nodded. Snape gave Volkova a look that appraised her, and although his frown didn’t alter, his eyes relaxed slightly.

“This way. I have a concealed portkey we can use,” Snape said, pulling them down into an alley where strings of bells and lights glowed. 

Six streets over, they were moving at a measurable pace over the cobblestones, their breaths rising and falling in the air around them. Snape covered ground like a prowling panther, one hand at all times holding Harry’s arm or even his hand. Volkova moved backwards and forwards, as if circling to catch her own shadow. She paused them, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“How much further?” she asked. 

“Two more blocks,” Snape whispered back. Harry wheezed, holding the book tight to his chest. “I warned you about this. You're going to be physically weaker than usual until you recover your strength. It can't be helped beyond taking the restorative potion. It could take weeks yet for you to feel like yourself again. Are you all right? Can you make it?”

“Can’t catch....my breath....” Harry complained. He fell to his knees, and Snape went down as well. He pulled off Harry’s coat and made it vanish. “What are you doing?” Harry gasped, shivering in the cold. Snape emptied Harry’s person of anything besides his clothes. All the contents of Harry’s pockets, the few presents he had managed to buy, vanished into the same nothingness. “Where did you send them?” Harry asked.

“Your house.”

“Past the wards?”

“I changed your wards to allow myself and my magic entrance whenever necessary. I hope that wasn’t too presumptuous of me?”

“No,” Harry said, almost smiling. 

“We’ll get your things tomorrow. Book.”

“He needs to keep that,” Volkova said urgently. 

“No. It’s too heavy. It’s going,” Snape decided. 

“We need to move,” Volkova added, taking one of Harry’s arms and pulling him up. “Come on.”

“What?”

Snape had snatched up the Blunt Objects book, and had touched his wand to it, when a shot of magic enveloped him. It made his hair stand on end briefly. The book hit the ground, and magic dust exploded from the pages as they were tickled around by the wind. The brown paper that Madam Grimwood had wrapped the book in unfolded like a tent. Harry stooped to reach the brown tent. Volkova kept a claw-like grip on his arm. Snape stiffened in place. Harry reached back for him, but Snape slapped his hand away.

“It’s a confundus,” Snape growled, vanishing the book into mist. “Get him out of here at once, Volkova.”

“No!” Harry yelled.

“Go!” Snape repeated, staggering and shaking his head. Volkova pulled on Harry with all her strength.

“We aren’t leaving,” Harry said, pulling against her and reaching back for Severus again. Snape was struggling to get to his feet, shaking his head wildly. 

“Do you know how to apparate?” Volkova asked, pushing Harry bodily ahead of her. “We can’t leave him!” Harry screamed. Volkova pushed him forward. Snape was on his feet, but headed in the direction back where they had come from. 

“Where is he going?” Harry wondered frantically. 

“They aren’t after him. They’re after you,” Volkova hissed. Footsteps could be heard all around them, echoing off the walls, echoing on the bricks. Harry pulled out his wand. Volkova was cursing under her breath. “Damn it. Why did you take my cloak?”

“I wanted to read you.”

“Wonderful. Terrific. Damn your curiosity, Harry.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry stammered.

“Do you know how to apparate?”

“No.”

“At your age?”

“No one has taught me how,” Harry complained. 

“What about your guardian, Mr. Lupin?”

“He’s my god-father, not my guardian, and he hasn’t had the chance,” Harry said sadly. “We have to go back for Severus.”

“Come. Now,” Volkova growled. She touched his hand, pouring a vial over it, and Harry felt the magic pass between them in a tingle like fire and oil.

“What was that? What did you do?” he asked, trying to pull his hand free of hers. She held on tightly.

“Lentus Rapidus,” she explained.

“That’s in the Potions textbook for next term.”

“Do you remember what it does?”

“No,” he trembled.

“You and I are sealed together. We are one entity. If I can get to a place where I can apparate, you will apparate with me. If, God forbid, you are taken, I am taken as well.”

“What?!” Harry protested, trying more desperately to yank his hand from her. The trouble was it wasn’t two hands any longer– it was more of a ten-legged spider with five feet up and five feet down. Her moon-silver ring clattered on her skinny finger, and he felt the warmth of the metal against their skin. “I feel nauseous,” he warned, tearing his eyes away from their mutual hand.

“You’re not supposed to use it on human flesh. You’ll begin to feel what I am feeling, and I will feel what you are feeling. Our vessels will join. Our blood will mingle. The longer we stay connected, the worse it will get. Getting us separated again may be messy and unpleasant, and probably painful. There may be effects afterwards as well. They shouldn’t last longer than a day or two though. I can’t take the chance of losing you, Mr. Potter.”

“Why are you nauseous?” he questioned.

“Withdrawal symptoms. I’m attempting to wean myself off a particular potion. There’s no time to explain. We have to go.”

“What about Severus?”

“I’ll come back for him when you are safe.”

“No!” Harry yelled. “No! We go back for him now!”

“Potter!” Volkova ordered, using an authoritative tone he had never heard from her, not even in class. Harry ignored her, pulling with all his might in the direction from which they had come. Footsteps echoed around them in the other alley ways that intersected with the street they were now traveling down. All the shops were on the main streets. These were residential homes, tall brick houses on winding lanes. Volkova pulled Harry down into the shadows, and waited as a worried woman went by, her brows in her hairline as she stared at them.

“Happy Christmas,” she said nervously, running away from them after she had passed them. Her heels thudded on the snowy bricks. Volkova closed her eyes in concentration, and Harry felt as if she were trying to do a spell on them both, but it wouldn’t congeal. He could sense when spells had solidified, and this one wouldn’t pull itself together. 

“I’m afraid you’re interfering with my magic,” she decided.

“I am not,” Harry defended. 

“You don’t want to leave, so I can’t apparate.”

“We have to find Severus.”

“We have to leave!” Volkova hissed. “I’ll come back to get him once you are safe. You don’t believe me. I can feel your distrust. Don’t you DARE try to engage your clairvoyance against me. Do you understand me?” She pointed a long finger at him. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said, worried. “Where are we going?” he demanded when she surged forward.

“I can’t apparate because you don’t want to leave. I don’t know where Snape’s hidden portkey is,” Volkova said. “We have no choice but to go back to your house, or to run the distance back to Hogwarts. What can I do to help you trust me, Harry?”

“Doesn’t Madam Grimwood have a Floo?” he avoided the question.

“She hasn’t been open long enough to get connected to the school again. She was going to set up the Floo tomorrow with the Headmaster’s permission.”

“What about Fred and George?” Harry asked. 

“Who?”

“Ron’s brothers. They have a shop in Hogsmeade, and they are connected to the school,” Harry suggested. “You’re mad I’m worried about Severus,” Harry said, following reluctantly. Volkova eyed him angrily but didn’t have a chance to answer. 

Radiant energy lit the street, and an ugly purple cloud came out from the alley to their left. Anna expelled a halo of white light from her wand, and it repelled the purple cloud until the two clouds congealed together and vanished into the night air. To his surprise, she put away her wand. 

“I know you can’t run far like this. Do you think you can make it to your friends’ shop?”

“Yes,” Harry replied. 

“First, we’re going to practice a couple quick spells. Give me your wand.”

“What?” Harry whispered, circling her side so that one of them stared one way, and one stared the other way.

“On the count of three, we’re doing a fire calamity. Do you know what that is?”

“No,” Harry said. “I see shadows over there.”

“How many?”

“Four or five.”

“Same my direction. Okay. It’s very simple, love. Ignis calamitus.”

“Ignis calamitus. That sounds messy. What about the houses?”

“You have no choice,” she insisted.

“They’re getting closer,” Harry whispered. He could make out six figures now, lurking in the alley, all in robes and masks. Death Eaters. His body quaked. He fought away visions of the graveyard where he had fought Voldemort and the Death Eaters, of the attack at the Ministry of Magic, of Voldemort’s horrible laugh, of Sirius’s face as he vanished behind the Veil.

“Ignis, ventus, aqua aut terra,”Volkova said, bringing him back to reality. (AN 3) Had she seen what had been in his mind? How attached were they with this potion? He couldn’t read her thoughts, and she clearly did not want him to use his clairvoyance. But physically he could sense that she was feeling his fear. 

“What?”

“Fire, wind, water, or earth?” Volkova whispered, giving him back his wand and taking out her own again. “If we combine our efforts, the spell will be stronger.”

“As one entity, we probably have to do the same spell,” Harry speculated. 

“Ignis, ventus, aqua aut terra. You decide.”

“Ventus. Wind?”

“Hurricane Harry,” Volkova laughed softly. “All right. Are you ready?”

“They’re getting closer,” Harry murmured.

“On three, Harry. Not before,” Anna said, crouching slightly. Harry’s blood was turning cold. He felt Volkova tremble, and knew that she was scared as well. Somehow that made him feel better. “One. Two. Three.”

“Ventus calamitus!” they yelled as one, pointing in opposite directions. Harry was held to the ground only by the strength of Volkova’s hand attached to his. The snow was swept off the bricks. Christmas decorations were ripped away, and fell tinkling with sound several blocks away. They didn’t linger to find out if the spell had caught the followers. Volkova was already rushing Harry along. 

Their footsteps rang on the empty bricks until they reached snow again, three blocks away, back in the merchant district. Anna and Harry collided with a group of shoppers, and packages went into the air like colorful balls, bouncing back to the ground. The people in the street parted down the middle, dodging the running duo as best as they could. 

“How far?” Volkova asked. “Is your house closer than the shop? Does your house have upper floors?” Volkova called. “Is there a bedroom on the top?”

“The house is probably closer, yes. My bedroom is on the top floor,” Harry replied, wondering why she’d ask a question like that at a time like this. Robed figures were appearing from the direction Harry and Anna had emerged, clothes askew, faces hidden again behind masks that had been rearranged. 

“You have to let go of my magic and let me have control of yours,” she ordered.

“How do I do that?” he wondered.

“Trust me,” she whispered.

She ran straight for a brick wall, holding out her wand ahead of her. This, Harry decided, was not the best way to get him to trust her. He tried very hard to believe she had his best interests at heart. After all, if she were in league with Voldemort, she wouldn’t be risking life and limb running through the streets of Hogsmeade like this, would she?

“Distortio!” she called. The bricks parted en masse like water rippling on the surface of a lake, allowing them entrance through the hat seller’s shop. Volkova’s distortion spell had parted the wall and the merchandise that had been hanging on it as well. She sped ahead without looking back, dragging Harry along. She aimed her wand at the next wall in their way. “Distortio!”

Harry glanced behind, and watched in fascination as the robed figures tried to follow through the hole that was closing. One got stuck half-way in and out, and began howling in agony as the wall solidified around him. His severed leg dropped to the ground, twitching around. After the wall closed, the other Death Eaters burst in through the regular door. Patrons fled in horror, though not without recognizing Potter. 

Multi-colored shots of energy whizzed by Harry’s head, and he lost his balance, unaware that Volkova had turned and they were now headed up a staircase in the cloak makers’ store. Anna was on the landing, and pulled him upright with a simple yank. She aimed her wand at the window which would take them outside on the third floor. It twisted outward with the crinkling of glass and splintering of wood, and folded back on itself again after they had escaped out onto the sloped roof. 

Harry could see fractures running through the glass and cracks scarring across the wood. Clearly this distorion spell wasn't good for certain materials. But the bricks didn't seem to have minded much.

Harry filed away the thoughts as they pounded out onto the sloped roof. They slid back to the ground with a painful crunch of bricks and bones. Undaunted by skinned shins and bruised knees, Volkova pulled Harry to his feet and kept running. 

Shops went by in a blur. Crossing an intersecting street, they narrowly missed a horse and carriage. Anna was going for the wall of another house. Harry glanced down the street towards where Fred and George had their shop. The lights were on and the doors were wide open in spite of the snow and wind. One of the Weasley twins spotted Harry and Volkova, but there was no time to shout to him. 

“Arachneme,” Volkova called. This time they went up the wall instead of through it. The Weasley twin that had seen them pulled out his wand and headed forward. Volkova pulled Potter down behind a sign that was on the roof. “Do you want to try to apparate again?”she asked, pausing to allow him to catch his breath.

“If we apparate attached, how can you be so sure we’re going to come back together properly at the other end?” he panted. 

“We do would run the risk of becoming further entangled,” she admitted. “Perhaps we need another calamity. Ignis, ventus, aqua aut terra?”

“HARRY!” A voice shouted below. It was Fred, Harry thought. 

“Ignis,” Harry decided. 

“On three,” she nodded. 

“What about the people?” Harry fretted. 

“If I saw people running and other people chasing them, I’d hit the ground. Wouldn’t you? Especially if they’re throwing around spells,” Anna grinned, strangely-out-of-place happiness glowing in her face. It couldn’t be she was enjoying this, Potter wondered. He calmed his own fear and reached into her, figuratively speaking, to see what he could sense. 

This was work. This was her job. She was doing what she’d been trained to do. This is what she was here to do– protect him. He felt it clear as if she had said the words– “I’m here to protect you”. Anna Volkova had been trained as a bodyguard? That didn’t make sense. She was a vampire killer. Former vampire killer. 

He got blasted with a mental remembrance of her pulling someone through a crowded market on the run from pursuers in black robes and turbans. The strange smells and sounds in the air were tantalizing. She turned to see the man, could feel a powerful chest rising and falling against her back as they crouched to hide in the shadows. He was a man with blond hair and hazel-brown eyes, and he grinned boyishly at her in spite of the chaos around them. Her whole body flushed with lustful desire so strong Harry was embarrassed by it. She leaned back to capture the man with a kiss, wanting him desperately. There was with such a lonesome ache in her heart, a sorrow that had never healed. He felt his eyes tear up in pain for her.

“Harry, no clairvoyance,” Volkova warned, her green eyes darkening. He quickly stopped, pulling an inch or two away from her, and lowering his eyes in embarrassment. Harry was suddenly dying with curiosity though– he had to learn more. Who was the man Volkova was about to kiss? Where were they? How old had she been? “Are you ready?” she asked. He nodded. They popped up over the sign, already shouting.

“IGNIS CALAMITUS!!”

“DUCK!!!!” Harry added. Fred dodged out of the way in the nick of time. A bolt of magic leapt away from Harry and Volkova, and went red-hot as it traveled down the street. At the same moment, an intersecting net of magic wove across the path of the redness. The red magic went through the net of gold, and flames leapt everywhere. Screaming ensued, as it often does when fireballs appear from rooftops. But the calamity was somewhat less impressive than Harry had expected, certainly less spectacular than the wind one had been. That golden net had had something to do with it, too. 

“They’re blocking the calamity spells,” Anna warned. She and Harry climbed over to another roof as Potter heaved for breath. Fred rolled to his feet down the street, spotted Harry again, and went inside the joke shop. George appeared at the door, and Fred reappeared. In tandem, they rushed to the rescue. 

“We need to be on the other side of the street,” Harry gasped, pointing. 

“Time for a new spell, dear. You’d better close your eyes,” she warned, pulling him not forward but back as far as the flat roof would allow. 

“You’re not,” Harry laughed nervously. A robed figure was already up on the roof at the end of their block, coming towards them. “We can’t make that,” he protested, pointing forward.

“Can’t we?”

“I can’t.”

Volkova tugged Harry against her side.

“With me, you will. Close your eyes,” she said again, “and don’t look down.”

Volkova surged forward, whispering ,’pinnapinnapinnapinnapinna,’ under her breath. Harry ran with her, closing his eyes at the last second. He felt Volkova pull him over into mid-air, and he screamed out loudly. 

“Arachneme!” Anna called. She hit the wall and stuck with her free hand and both knees. Harry dangled from their combined grip. He opened his eyes, and found himself twenty feet off the ground. His natural reaction was to scream again, because he was sure Volkova was going to rip his arm from the socket. Bolts of energy spattered the wall around him as he swung back and forth.

“Arachneme,” Harry groaned. He reached for the wall and began to scurry up after Volkova. A quick look downwards told him that Fred and George were trying to pick off any of the Death Eaters they could get their hands on. Harry and Volkova scaled over the ledge, and he sat heaving for breath as she bounced her head up over once, and again quickly. She was counting how many Death Eaters were left. 

“You’re mad, you know that, don’t you?” Harry told her. She smiled as if he had flattered her, and pushed a scraped, bloody hand over her forehead. He peered up over the wall with her. Six figures in dark robes were walking around down below. Two had been picked off by the Weasley twins, who were dodging angry bolts from the others. 

“Mr. Goyle, what does your father do for a living?” Volkova was murmuring, drying her face with the end of her muffler. She ruffled through Harry’s clothes and pulled out the brown paper that had been wrapped around the book. “‘Well, ma’am, he’s a maniac who hunts small children.’ I’d know that slouching, knuckle-dragging body type anywhere.”

Harry darted a look over the roof again. One of the figures was walking up the wall. Fred and George were having to withdraw, but not for long.

“They know your climbing spell. Now what?” he asked. Anna whipped the brown paper around, and expanded its form with a burst of white magic. It multiplied in size at least four times, once for each whip through the air. Harry watched, eyes bulging, as Volkova rolled the paper out into a cylinder with her good hand and their combined hand, and expanded it again. The white-hot paper dulled to dark brown once more. 

“How far did you get in that sword training?” she asked, tapping the completely solid staff of wood to the stones. “I’m sure I’ve got a couple paperclips in my pocket.”

“Not very far,” he admitted. “What did you? How did you? What is that?” he asked, pointing to her creation. “What the hell are you planning to do with the paperclips?”

“Remember my shifting sand blade?” Anna asked. Harry nodded. “It’s a similar transfiguration spell,” she revealed. “Basic is as far as I got. Transfigurations was never my strong suit. I concentrated on other subjects.”

“Like what?” Harry asked. 

“Let’s just say I had a well-worn copy of the Blunt Objects book at your age, hm?”

She was undoubtedly excited and happy. So, she was clearly insane, Harry decided. She was here to protect him, and she was perfectly crazy. Yeah, that was usually the way things went for Harry. Figures were climbing up over the roof, faces hidden behind masks, but very recognizable by their bodies. Crabbe walked by Goyle, and the skinniest of them had to be Bellatrix. Harry could feel it in his bones. There was no way he and Volkova could handle them all. He didn’t care how many paperclips she had in her pocket. 

“Wand at the ready?” Anna asked. A spell jet flew at them, and she bounced it off the end of her staff. Basic transfiguration spell? Who was she kidding? They’d never done anything like that in McGonagall’s class. Harry would have remembered it, to be sure. 

“Ignis!” Harry shouted, pointing his wand. Sparks belched backwards out from his wand, signing his fingertips. He growled in pain but held on. Anna batted away another spell, urging Harry towards the next roof. The robed figures followed, some hanging back, others coming forward. They were spread out in a semi circle that was trying to close around Potter and Volkova. 

“Ignis!” Harry shouted again. This time he got lucky. The fire went forwards instead of backwards. Of course, if he had added ‘calamitus’ it might have helped. No matter. One of the robed figures burst into flames. Unfortunately, it was not one that he recognized. Still it was rather satisfying to hear the screaming and watch the fireball and figure fall over the side of the building. At least they didn’t try to block the spell with another golden net. 

“Nice shot!” 

That had been Fred again. He and George were climbing up onto the roof. They aimed their wands at another Death Eater, and sent a flurry of live chickens at the robed figure. Amid the clucking and screaming, white feathers filled the air. 

Volkova tapped the staff to the roof, and the staff began to shake. Was her spell concentration wavering? Harry hit his knees, and pointed his wand at the closest figure.

“Aqua calamitus!” His spell rushed forth like a heavy blue wave, throwing another of the remaining attackers against the far ledge of the roof. 

“Three houses down?” Anna asked.

“Yes,” he replied. 

Volkova dodged another spell, sending it bouncing off the staff and back at the figures. It encased two victims in ice, Crabbe and Goyle. Harry pulled backwards, and Anna followed. They crossed one roof, and another, using the desperate scampering of cornered animals. There were noises below in the street. It sounded suspiciously like someone breaking down his back door from the inside of the house. 

“One roof to go. Are you up to it?” Anna asked. 

“Surrender yourselves!! The block is surrounded!” someone shouted from below on the street.

“Was that Hagrid?” Harry asked. Volkova perked up. 

“Sounded like him to me,” she replied. 

“Don’t worry, Baby Potter,” cooed the last figure as she stepped closer. It was most definitely Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry recognized her cold eyes through her mask.

“Ignis calamitus!” Harry shouted, pointing his wand at her. Bellatrix deflected the spell aside, and it collided with Volkova’s staff. Anna was visibly annoyed by the development when the staff reverted to a large sheet of paper that went up in a puff of flames. 

“Keep moving, Harry,” Volkova fussed. 

“We’re against the wall,” Harry warned.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Baby Potter,” Bellatrix chuckled, stalking closer. Harry felt a sudden, distinct emotion radiating off of Volkova– pure hatred. “The Dark Lord and I can entertain both you and your new friend.”

Volkova hissed words in Latin at Bellatrix, and Lestrange’s demeanor changed from amused to shocked. 

“There’s no need to be uncivilized,” Bellatrix laughed uncomfortably. Volkova dug a hand in her pocket and withdrew five paperclips. Harry watched in horror as she cast them into the air at Lestrange. Right before Bellatrix was going to laugh, the paperclips unfurled into long, sharp scissors. It took a quick twist of the waist to avoid getting both eyes gouged out. As it was, Bellatrix was grazed across the shoulder as the scissors danced past her, skipping across the surface of the rooftop, scattering sparks in their wakes.  
“Have you ever heard of the Flying Fellini Brothers?” Anna asked Harry, pulling him up onto the ledge with her. 

“We’ll fall like rocks,” Harry hissed, glancing down at the roof they wanted, fifteen feet below the one they were on. “What are you doing?” he asked as Volkova surrounded him with her arms, bending his hand and arm behind him because of their connected hands. Fred and George were running full speed for them, scared and pale white. 

“Don’t let go,” she mused. “Pinnapinnapinnapinna,” she whispered as she tugged, kicking Harry’s feet away because she knew he wouldn’t jump on his own. 

The fall was less than graceful. They floated for almost a second, but plummeted too fast. Harry lost his glasses. Bolts of magic whizzed by them as they fell. Harry expected a nasty sudden stop, and instead he heard Volkova shouting.

“Distortio!”

The roof below them didn’t part in time. Harry curled up. Volkova screamed out as she snapped her foot backwards against the opening stones. A large purple something below them came into focus as they landed on it. Harry couldn’t believe it– they had landed in his bedroom, on his bed? Anna moaned in agony as he rolled awkwardly over her, all knees and elbows. She steadied him and pushed him upwards off of herself, and not without a dark glance of annoyance. They had managed to land in the near-middle of his bed. Unbelievable! Now where were his glasses, Harry wondered as he was glancing around. The room hadn’t been left in this kind of mess. Pillows from the bed had bounced everywhere. Clothes that had been neatly piled on the end of the bed were now scattered around the room. 

“??,” Volkova was groaning, rocking back and forth. It sounded like she was repeating something vaguely Asian – souki sin. What was she saying? Harry sat up, touching her shoulder.AN 4

“Are you all right?” he worried.

“Peachy,” she grunted, clutching her left leg.  
Harry squinted at the ceiling. His glasses were stuck in the re-closed stones, dangling by one ear hook. He laid back down next to Volkova, realizing how very close a call it had really been. 

“We can floo back to the school from downstairs,” Harry said. She continued muttering ‘souki sin’ to herself. The sound of heavy feet on the stairs brought Harry into a defensive position. 

“There you are, Mr. Potter. I see Professor Volkova kept a close watch on you. Let’s get you both back to Hogwarts,” Professor Dumbledore said as he and Hagrid emerged from the staircase into Harry’s bedroom. Hagrid yanked Harry off the bed and gave him a crushing hug, dragging Volkova upright in the process. 

"Ow," Volkova whimpered, going pale.


	10. The Hospital Wing

“My, what an interesting evening you’ve had,” Headmaster Dumbledore smiled, watching Harry pace frantically at the end of his tether with Volkova. Potter had crossed a particular tile about a hundred times in the ten minutes they’d been back at the school. Hagrid was balancing Volkova upright with one hand on her free arm. Fred and George had accompanied them. Fred was carrying a black robe, and George was trying to get his hands on it. 

“Lestrange vanished, but I got her cloak,” Weasley grinned, dangling it at Harry. 

“They’ve got Severus! We have to go back,” Harry insisted. 

“Relax, Harry. Professor Snape is fine. He’s in the infirmary, which is where you’re going to take Professor Volkova. She’s clearly in distress,” Dumbledore said, taking the robe from Fred. 

"If you'd just let me carry you, this would be a lot easier," Hagrid gruffed. Volkova went a scalded sort of angry that was funny to see on someone usually so reserved. 

“You are not going to carry me. I’m fine,” Anna protested, limping along.

“Your foot is swelling,” Harry pointed out. 

“What is this?” Dumbledore asked, taking hold of the junction of Harry and Anna’s mutual hand.

“Lentus Rapidus. I’m sorry, sir. There was no other choice,” Volkova stammered. 

“That’s definitely going to require a trip to the hospital wing. Professor McGonagall is waiting for you.”

“That’s gonna hurt,” George commented. Fred winced, shaking his head.

“Aye, that it will,” Hagrid agreed.

Harry and Volkova entered the hospital wing in a tangle of steps, because Harry was running but Volkova was limping stoicly. Hagrid balanced her up as well as he could.

“Where is he?” Harry asked of McGonagall. He clearly didn’t have to say who. Minerva pointed to a far bed, which was covered with a long black form. Harry ran that direction as Anna tugged hard on his arm.

“What is this?” McGonagall asked, goggling at their joined limb. 

“Lentus Rapidus,” Volkova explained. 

“Oh dear,” Minerva tisked, straightening her glasses. 

Harry reached Snape’s bed, pulling the screen aside. The Potions Master lay on his back with one arm folded over his face. Severus opened one eye, and was on his feet at once. He wrapped both arms around Harry and tugged him close, smothering him with whispers and words, ignoring Volkova entirely until she gave Harry’s arm an impatient tug. Hagrid was clearly fighting a deep-chested laugh.

“I thought they had you,” Harry cried, putting his face in Snape’s shoulder.

“In spite of being hit with a Profundus Confundus, he reached your house and flooed to the school to warn the Headmaster. I glued him to the bed until I could make sure he wasn’t hurt. The Headmaster flooed back to your house, where he found you,” Minerva explained.

“Harry. My Harry. You are never leaving the school again. Ever,” Snape babbled, crushing Harry to himself and holding tight. 

"That's enough of that," Hagrid gruffed again, tugging Harry upright.

“Will you please stop mauling the boy?” Volkova asked stiffly. 

“What is this?” Snape asked, putting a hand over their joined one. “Lentus Rapidus on human tissue? Are you completely mad?”

“We can debate the topic of insanity as you separate us,” Anna growled. 

“He’s all scratched up. Bruised. Bleeding,” Snape complained, studying Harry head to toe. Harry appeared to have been dropped in a bin with boulders and tumbled around for several minutes. “Did you drag him through a brick wall?”

“No. But we went up and down several,” Harry almost laughed. Severus stroked Harry’s locks, cupped his neck, and pressed his cheek to Harry’s forehead. Minerva frowned her annoyance, and physically pulled Snape and Harry apart.

“Severus! Try to concentrate. You need to get them unjoined.”

“Yes, I know!” he barked at McGonagall. “I’ll need several potions from my workroom. You have to release me from this bed.”

“Make a list, and I’ll get what you need from the workroom. You’re staying in that bed until morning.”

"He fainted in the Great Hall," Hagrid said to Harry. "Blood pressure through the roof."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Harry asked Severus.

"I did not faint. I tripped. I’ll need...I’ll need....I can’t think,” Snape shivered, pulling Harry back into his arms. “I was so worried about you.”

Harry laughed softly, a giddy, happy sound. Only Mrs. Weasley had ever fussed over Harry in such a fashion. He was very touched. He stumbled, closing his eyes and sitting down on the floor in front of the bed. Volkova fell forward, nearly landing in Snape’s lap as well. She steadied herself awkwardly. Hagrid stood closer to Harry, messing up his hair with a dart of a hand. 

"Quit your fussin'. He's fine. A bit out of breath, that's all. Right, Harry?" 

“Mr. Potter, get off that cold floor. Sit on the bed,” McGonagall chided. “Severus, perhaps you should check out what Madam Pomfrey has in stock before you have me running up and down the steps to the dungeon,” she suggested to Snape. “Professor Volkova is going to need your help as well, very urgently.”

“Oh, no. I’m fine,” Anna insisted. But she was beginning to look clammy and cold. 

“Sit,” McGonagall ordered. Harry and Anna sat on Snape’s right side, Harry between the two adults. Hagrid stood behind McGonagall, laughing to himself as he watched the Potions Master. For his part, Snape was avoiding the giant's knowing grin. 

“Is the crunchy part in the Flying Fellini Brothers’ act?” Harry asked Volkova. 

“No,” Volkova laughed, avoiding looking down at her ankle. She was obviously in growing pain. Her boot was tight on her foot, which had swollen tremendously. 

“I landed on her,” Harry explained. “We landed on my bed! She opened the roof! You should have seen it!”

“How much actual medical training do you have?” Volkova asked Snape, finally centering her eyes on her ankle. She gulped loudly.

“How much pain are you in?” Snape asked, smiling slightly.

“Did you remove the Confundus spell entirely?” Anna asked McGonagall. 

“Not to worry. He tried to get away from me several times. But I got the whole spell off him before glueing him where he sits.”

“I’ll have you both good as new by morning,” Severus promised, “if you’ll release me from this bed,” he added, glaring at McGonagall. 

“Her first,” McGonagall insisted. 

“Her first,” Harry agreed.

"Think I'll make us all a spot of tea," Hagrid said. "This is going to take some time."


	11. The Fight

“Did you really try to set fire to half of Hogsmeade last night?” Ron asked anxiously when he and Hermione joined Harry at breakfast. Ron dropped down the Daily Prophet, which had a blazing picture on the front. “Fred and George both got quoted in the article. I’ll never hear the end of this. You had an adventure without me!”

Harry had been nose-deep in the Blunt Objects book. His Transfigurations book lay open nearby, parted to reveal the more-advanced chapters at the end of the book. Harry gave Ron a moody scowl as he took a bite of toast. Hermione took a seat next to Harry, and Ron threw himself on the bench across the table from them. 

“Next time I’m going to be chased by lunatic killers, I’ll be sure to alert you,” Harry murmured dryly. 

“Oh, dear,” Hermione whistled, examining Ron’s copy of the paper. 

“Fred took Bellatrix’s cloak,” Harry said. “The Headmaster is examining it today to see if there’s anything we can learn from it.”

“Why not give it to you and let you get familiar with it?” Ron asked.

“Because he wants to make sure it isn’t going to blow up or turn into a Lethifold.”

“What did you learn from Volkova’s cloak?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said grimly. 

“Did you give it back to her?” Ron grinned.

“Yes. Early this morning.”

“You were seen leaping from roof to roof like flying squirrels,” Weasley chuckled. “The shop keepers are not thrilled with you. One even said you ought not to be allowed out without an Auror escort.”

“Great,” Harry muttered. “What does ‘pinna’ mean in Latin?” he asked Hermione. 

“Feather,” she replied. 

“That makes sense,” Harry nodded. “Volkova was mentally turning me into a feather, so I would be light enough to carry when she jumped.”

“Did she really stick you together with a Lentus Rapidus potion?”

“Our hands.”

“Did you learn anything about her while you were attached to her?” Ron wondered.

“Very confusing images and things– yes and no.”

“How long did it take to separate you?” Hermione asked, completely curious.

“We were up till three in the hospital wing with Professor Snape,” Harry murmured. “He was threatening to use a hacksaw, but we tried one last potion, and it did the trick.”

“Sure you got the right fingers?” Ron grinned, checking out both of Harry’s hands. 

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Any lingering after effects?”

“I wanted to pee sitting down this morning, and I have a strange hungry feeling. I don’t know what I’m hungry for, but I’m hungry. I’m lonely too, I think. It’s odd, interpreting other people’s feelings.”

“You could use sleep,” Hermione said, fluffing the back of Harry’s head, making his locks stick up. “And a bath,” she sniffed at him.

“Harry, Volkova gave you a Quicky-Sticky,” Ron teased, laughing. “Always knew it would happen.”

“That’s what it’s called, using a Lentus Rapidus on someone,” Hermione explained to a red-faced Harry. “Not to be confused with sloppy, uncoordinated sex.”

“People wouldn’t really ever use that as...I mean...during....um, sex?” Harry stammered. 

“Fred and George did once and got stuck together,” Ron laughed undertone. 

“You don’t mean they were stuck together together?” Hermione questioned. Harry and she exchanged a horrified glance. “TMI, Mr. Weasley,” Hermione said. “Far too much information.”

“Not together alone,” Ron exploded in embarrassment. “They were stuck with others. That’s all I know,” Ron sighed. “It happened our first year here. Something to do with Quidditch Cup celebrations and why they spent a long weekend at St. Mungo’s.”

“Did it involve Oliver Wood?” Harry wondered. Hermione laughed discretely.

“Moving right along with a brisk change of subject, did you finish your Christmas shopping yet?” Ron inquired.

“No. I’ve been delayed. Professor Dumbledore said I’m not to leave Hogwarts under any circumstances, not even for Christmas shopping.”

“You could always order by mail,” Ron smiled.

“He wants a giant purple sex toy bed,” Hermione explained blandly.

“How many people know about my bed?” Harry asked.

“Much of the known world,” she said. 

“It was a blind item in the gossip section,” Ron said, pointing to the newspaper. “ ‘What boy-wizard is getting a naughty but nice Christmas present this year? Sources from Hogsmeade claim to have delivered a very adult-rated bed to the rapidly-maturing school boy. Here’s hoping he reads the manual before he uses the truly-advanced spells, or things could get a little hairy.’ They’re behind, aren’t they? You’ve had it for a month.”

“Fuck,” Potter sulked. 

“Are they self-cleaning?” Ron wondered.

“Yes,” Harry replied honestly, and immediately regretted it. Hermione covered her eyes as Ron laughed loudly. 

“More than I ever wanted to imagine, thank you,” Hermione grumbled. “Harry, don’t you dare buy Ron one of those beds.” 

“That’s all right. We could borrow his now and again, couldn’t we?”

“You aren’t really asking permission to allow you to writhe naked together in my bed, are you?” Harry asked, turning a page. 

“Yes,” Ron grinned.

“What are you reading?” Hermione asked. Harry tilted up the front of the book. Granger’s eyes went wide. “Blunt who? Blunt in what manner? What sort of objects?”

“What sort of uses?” Ron hummed hungrily. 

“Death, mayhem, physical disfigurement,” Harry answered. “No sex yet.”

“Hermione, could you budge off for a while, because Harry and I need to talk,” Ron said, giving her a meaningful look.

“No, you don’t,” Hermione said. 

“Yes, we do.”

“No, you don’t. Were you not listening to me last night, Ron?”

“I was listening. Now go away.”

“Ron.”

“Hermione.”

“Ron.”

“Hermione.”

“He wants to ask you in-depth questions about your sex life,” Hermione informed Harry.

“That is NOT what I was going to ask,” Ron insisted as Harry choked and coughed for air for several seconds.

“No, I’m sure you wanted to phrase it much more crudely. Harry, I told him that you and Snape have struck up a master-pupil friendship, however improbable that might be for him to imagine, and that he should mind his own business,” Hermione continued. “You and Professor Snape are not sleeping together, and neither are you fornicating.”

“You said a lot more than that,” Ron huffed. Harry continued to cough. Hermione handed him a glass of juice.

“I also may have mentioned that I thought Snape’s attachment to you is a Nightingale Obsession, falling in love with the people you heal. Your attachment for him has all its basis in your absolute lack of affection before coming here to Hogwarts. You’re in great need of a male role model who is in your life more than two hours a week or every six months when he can fit you into his schedule. Snape has spent years in your life.”

“Terrifying him at every opportunity,” Ron interjected. Harry took a drink and cleared his throat, trying to interrupt the stream of words from Granger and Weasley both. 

“But what’s important is, Snape has been looking after you, in his own weird way, and he spent a month saving your life, and it’s natural that you’ve become somewhat attached to him, that you might view his actions as affectionate in return. Are you all right?”

“First off,” Harry stammered. Hermione patted him on the back. “Thank you,” he rasped. “First off, I’m sure you’ll both recall that whole ‘Harry has to remain a virgin so his powers are stronger’ problem? Yeah? That hasn’t changed.”

“You were sleeping in Snape’s bed for a month,” Ron countered. “You mean to tell me you and he never....I saw how he looked at....at you....how he....” Ron struggled for words, trying to convey his message while at the same time keeping his anger under control. “You were wearing his pajamas. You were sharing a pillow, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Keep your voice down,” Hermione hissed.

“He gave you a detention every day for two weeks to get you to spend time with him,” Ron went on. 

“When exactly were you two discussing my private life?” Harry wanted to know.

“Last night in the broom closet,” Hermione admitted.

“Why can’t you go to the broom closet, and feel each other up and forget about me, like normal people would?” Harry complained.

“We’re your friends. We’re worried about you,” Ron growled.

“Fine. Be worried about me. But don’t think about me when you’re in the broom closet,” Harry wailed. “Because that’s just weird. Okay? It’s really really weird, and I don’t wanna think about you thinking about me while you’re touching each other,” he finished, covering his eyes in embarrassment. 

“It wasn’t all about you,” Hermione promised, touching his arm.

“Do you mind if I resent being made part of a threesome with my best friends?” Harry continued. 

“Is the idea of it all that bad?” Ron asked. Hermione and Harry both stared at him, mouths open.

“We are not having this conversation,” Harry blushed hot. Ron followed suit. Hermione smirked at them as they looked away from each other.

“I heard McGonagall talking about you and Snape in her office this morning,” Ron said. He lowered his voice even further as Snape and Volkova entered the dining hall. They were mid-argument and ignored the children.

“What are you talking about? Tingling in your fingers? Be glad you even have fingers to tingle,” Snape snapped.

“I’m having trouble holding small objects,” Volkova answered angrily.

“You should have thought about that before you attached yourself to Mr. Potter with a Lentus Rapidus,” Severus smirked. “Surely you’ve read the dangers of making two people into one being? The side-effects alone are enough to scare most people stupid. Pray they don’t last more than a few hours.”

“Did you muck up my hand because I left you in the alley?” she asked euphemistically. “Because you of all people should realize my first priority was to get Mr. Potter to safety. You as much as ordered getting him to safety and leaving you!”

“A medical professional knows how to separate personal feelings from their patient,” Snape sniffed at her. 

“Yes, but you are hardly a medical professional!” she reminded him sharply. 

“Mr. Potter?” Snape said, dragging Volkova over to the teens, who hushed down.

“Sir?”

“Are you experiencing negative biofeedback following detachment from Professor Volkova?”

“Am I what?”

“Aches? Pains? Stabbing sensations?” Volkova questioned.

“I’m hungry. I don’t know what for though.” He wanted to ask her why she was so lonely, and who she was lonely for. Was she pining for that man he had seen in her thoughts last night while they were on the run in Hogsmeade? Harry tilted his head and watched her. 

“Are you nauseated?” Snape asked. 

“Sir?”

“She said you were nauseous last night during attachment.”

“Not any longer. Wasn’t I feeling your nausea?” Harry asked Volkova. She nodded.

“Dizzy spells? Tingly sensations in your extremities?” Snape persisted. 

“My breasts are sensitive,” Harry murmured. The barest hint of a grin flickered on his mouth before dropping away again. Snape was too startled to reply momentarily. His dark eyes went feral, and back again. Was he mad at Potter for the rude comment? Harry had so been hoping for him to smirk. “What parts of you are tingling?” Harry asked Volkova. Anna gave him her right hand, rather like a child showing a wounded part to a parent.

“I’ve lost feeling. I can’t pick up small objects. It could be nerve damage,” she said.

“Oh, not to worry. Lockhart deboned that one for me. Cold days, it’s twingy when I wake up. Nothing to panic about,” he smiled. Volkova withdrew her hand from his grip. 

“See? What did I tell you?” Snape challenged Volkova.

“However did Professor Lockhart manage to debone your arm?” Volkova wanted to know from Harry. 

“Quidditch accident,” Harry said. Volkova nodded grimly. She flexed her right arm back and forth, working it around.

“It improves after it warms?” she asked.

“Yes,” Harry smiled.

“Good to know. Thank you,” she said. 

“You’re welcome,” Harry said as she moved her arm around again. “Professor? That spell you did with the paperclips? What chapter is it in?”

“I don’t know,” Volkova answered, flipping around the Transfigurations book to find the table of contents. “Hmm. This is not the same text that I used. Do you have parchment? I’ll write the words for you while I eat. Simple metal to metal? Wood to wood? It’ll be in Latin. Is that a problem?”

“Um, no. I’m willing to learn. Thanks,” Harry gushed as he handed her parchment and quill. Anna scooped up the ink well with her left hand, giving Snape a cold, civil look. 

“I apologize for my sharpness, Professor Snape.”

“Apology accepted,” he replied. 

“Voglio il mio caffé,” Volkova mumbled as she walked away. Snape waited until she was out of earshot before giving Harry his full attention. AN 5

“Massage them,” he said, his face a perfect mask.

“What?” Harry asked.

“It will help with the sensitivity,” Snape smirked finally, then walked away. Harry picked up a piece of bacon off his plate, watching Snape leave. 

“That’s not appropriate,” Ron fumed.

“He was joking, Ron,” Hermione sighed. 

“Him, joking?” Ron fussed.

“Believe it or not, he’s actually got a sense of humor,” Harry defended. 

“McGonagall thinks you have a crush on Snape, and she’s right,” Ron said. 

“Oh, really,” Harry growled. “That is too much.”

“He put something in your anti-vampire potion, and as long as you take that, you’ll be under his control,” Ron insisted.

“I’m almost done taking them, you know. I’ve watched him make the potions from start to finish. He told me what every ingredient is, and what it does. I am not under anyone’s control,” Harry insisted right back.

“It’s quite the opposite, really,” Hermione interjected. 

“Yes, you are under his control. You can’t see it,” Ron pressed.

“I am not!”

“He took off McGonagall’s spell so he could...so he could...” Ron couldn’t bring himself to say it. Harry set down his fork and closed the Transfigurations book.

“Professor McGonagall put that spell on me?” he questioned.

“Why would you need a spell like that unless she thought he meant to have his way with you while you were vulnerable?” Ron gasped, very upset.

“What?!” Harry screamed. Instructors from the head table hushed the children with an ensemble hushing sound. The scattered students at the Slytherin table laughed among themselves. 

“No. It’s the other way around,” Hermione said.

“Don’t be stupid,” Ron snapped at her.

“Harry was the one with the charisma spell. You kept making him cuddle with you,” she whispered to him before turning back to Ron. “Snape is under a promise to keep Harry pure. He won’t go back on that promise. The chastity belt spell was to protect Professor Snape, not Harry.”

“What makes you so sure?” Harry asked as Ron rolled his eyes and pushed away his half-eaten plate.

“You were the one getting shocked, weren’t you?”

“Initially,” Harry answered, avoiding Ron’s black, angry heated glare. 

“Snape had love bites on his neck. You had him entirely under your control. In fact, McGonagall feels you have a certain amount of sway over him yet,” Hermione said. 

“Rubbish,” Ron insisted. "Why aren't we all under Harry's control all the time?"

“I haven’t learned to control the charisma ability that Le Clair's bite left in me. Wish to hell someone would stop trying to dampen it for five minutes and tell me how to control it,” Harry muttered. 

“My theory is that McGonagall put that spell on you to keep you from hurting Snape, because you were using that charisma spell on him, and Snape took McGonagall’s spell off you. Ironic, wouldn’t you say?” she mused.

“Actually, Doctor Mesarik took it off,” Harry said.

“It’s all so medieval,” Hermione continued. “There’s no proof that your state of purity affects your magical abilities. You could fornicate with half the school and still cast spells.”

“I’m willing to test that theory if I get to pick which half,” Harry grinned. Hermione laughed, but Ron did not. 

“Not being raised with the proper traditions, neither of you would know what the virginity expectation is all about,” Ron said. “Even if there’s no truth to the claim that remaining a virgin heightens your magic, if you’re interested in a socially-sound marriage, being a virgin is a big asset. It has to do with very ancient traditions and beliefs.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

“Like what?” Hermione wanted to know.

“Like the idea that the first person you sleep with takes part of your magic and essence forever.”

“Rubbish,” Hermione frowned. “It takes two to tango. Who takes the magic and why? What if both people are virgins? Who gets whose magic? Old wives' tale.”

“It’s not rubbish. Old wives know a lot more than you might think. The stronger person of the two absorbs part of the weaker person’s magic if they’re both virgins. It happens. It can happen if you’re not a virgin too. There are even dark wizards and witches who can take away your magic if you have sex with them,” Ron said. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry worried. “What? Like they cast a spell on you?” 

“Prove it,” Hermione said, interrupting Ron’s attempt to answer Harry. 

“What?”

“Name me one case where two people engaged in sex, and afterwards one had a marked difference in ability to do magic. Show me a book. Show me an article. I’ll even accept the Quibbler as a source.”

“What? You don’t think they put those books on the shelves of a school library, do you? They certainly don’t write newspaper articles about things like that!” Ron laughed. “I don’t know anyone personally where it happened, at least where they’ll admit it. But that’s why more-traditional wizards expect you to wait until you’re married. You want to be sure that you are with someone you can trust, someone who genuinely loves you.”

“Rubbish,” Hermione scoffed. “Demanding virginity is about controlling how and when and with whom women are having sex. It’s about the Malfoys of the world making more little Malfoys. It’s about insuring your wife only bears your children. It’s stupid things like making me wear a dress to control my actions. Lack of movement equals lack of options. Proper young women don’t wear trousers. Proper young women aren’t overtly sexual. Proper young women don’t have sex before marriage. It’s about keeping women under control so you men have a constant source to produce other men. Don’t you talk to me about love and tradition. It’s oppression, that’s what it is. It’s oppression!”

“Hermione,” Harry shushed her, watching Ron get more and more furious. 

“We’re talking about Harry, who is not a woman,” Weasley scowled.

“But certain people are obviously very concerned about Harry remaining pure,” Hermione growled. “Aren’t you the least bit curious why they care if Harry is a virgin until he’s married? It’s because they want to control who he has children with, and the potency of the magic he passes on to his children. Buy a clue, Ron. Obviously someone has approached Dumbledore about negotiating a marriage with Harry, and they want him to be pure, so he can make more Potters with even stronger magic.”

“The question is why you’re so upset about it,” Ron said, giving what Harry considered a rather Slytherin smile when he knew he had struck his mark. 

“Because I’m trying to protect my friend,” Hermione answered between gritted teeth.

“My parents waited to have sex together until they were married,” Ron countered. “It’s the proper thing to do if you’re seriously considering someone for your life mate.”

Hermione froze, and Harry felt the anguish that went across her face.

“Surely there’s nothing sinister going on,” Harry offered to Hermione. “Virginity is probably encouraged to minimize distractions in a student’s life. It might not be entirely a wizard versus witch thing either.”

“You’d see it differently if you were the one in the dress,” Hermione replied with a shaking voice. 

“I am, sorta,” Harry said with a small smile. “Love’s so messy and complicated from what I’ve seen. Not sure about any of it. There’s all kinds of love. I mean, different kinds of love. Different ways to show you love someone,” he stammered in the uncomfortable silence. It occurred to him that he wanted very much to know who had approached Dumbledore, and if the Headmaster had been talking to Professor McGonagall, and if they discussed Harry getting married, and if they actually had any say about who he might eventually marry. He paused, and watched Hermione’s eyes tearing up as she glanced away. “Men who are in love do stupid things, say stupid things,” Harry added, giving Ron a pleading look. Had Weasley not yet figured out what a cruel jerk he’d been to Hermione?

“I’m going to go practice some Quidditch maneuvers,” Ron announced, standing up from the table.

“In the snow?” Harry questioned. 

“Yeah,” Ron snapped.

“If you want to avoid us because you’re mad, be man enough to admit it,” Hermione murmured coldly. 

“Fine. I’m avoiding you because I’m mad, and because you’re pretty stupid for such a smart person, and because you don’t know when to keep your bloody mouth shut.”

“Ron,” Harry gasped when Hermione started crying silently. “You apologize, right now,” he insisted. 

“Bugger off,” Ron growled, stalking away from the table. 

Hermione ate in a very mechanical fashion. Whispers abounded at the instructors’ table and among the few students that were about, but no one came over to where Harry and Hermione sat. Harry pushed his own food around the plate. After as much painful silence as he could manage, Harry gave the Blunt Objects book to Hermione.

“I recommend Chapter Four, page fifty eight. Maim or Mangle. Right now, maiming might seem too good for him, but I’m sure you’d regret outright mangling Ron, or dare I say, removing any parts you might decide you want later.”

“That’s sweet of you, Harry. I’ll keep it in mind,” Hermione whispered. She impatiently brushed away the tears on her face.

“I’m sorry he said those things,” Harry said, pushing the book onto the table. He picked up the platter of french toast and gave two more pieces to Hermione and one to himself.

“He’s clearly been needing to say them for some time. I already knew that’s how he felt, that he wasn’t serious about me,” Hermione said softly, watching Harry pour syrup on her plate.

“I could talk to him,” Harry offered.

“Please don’t.”

“Break his kneecaps for you? That’s in Maim or Mangle too.”

“No.”

“They mentioned something called a bamboo manicure in Swing from the Trees.”

“No.”

“How about....”

Harry flipped several pages, and pointed to a moving illustration that depicted one person sticking a pointy, booted foot near a specific posterior body orifice of another person. Hermione burst into laughter and tears at the same time. 

“Ugh. No,” she replied, drying her face.

“You consider it a while,” Harry suggested, closing the book again.

“I can do your shopping for you,” Hermione offered, “since you can’t leave Hogwarts but I can. If you have a list, that is.”

“I can have one ready right away,” Harry said eagerly. “I’m almost done, but I’d love the help. Of course, I’d have to obliviate you so you don’t remember what you bought for yourself.”

“Give me a list and some knuts, and I’ll go this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” Harry beamed. “Um, could you wrap them for me too? I’m all thumbs at that.”

“I suppose,” Hermione said with an annoyed sigh. “It’ll cost you extra though. Having something to do will keep my mind off how much I want to push Ron off a tall tower.”

“Chapter Fifteen – When Push Comes to Shove.” Harry patted the book. “It tells you how tall a tower is necessary for maiming vs killing, what kind of splatter to expect, what surface produces the most spectacular results.”

“Did you stay up the rest of the night reading this?”

“Let’s just say I was highly motivated, yes,” Harry smiled at her. 

“Can I borrow it?” Hermione asked. 

“Of course. Come up to the Black Queen’s Tower after breakfast. We’ll experiment with pumpkins,” Harry grinned.


	12. The Predator

“Did you have a fun afternoon?” Ron asked as he entered the Gryffindor dorms, wet from the showers, wearing a heavy robe. Harry flopped over onto his other side on his bed, giving Ron his back. “Not interrupting anything, am I?” Ron asked. 

“No. I finished massaging my sensitive breasts hours ago,” Harry replied. “I was napping when you came in.”

“I saw you and Hermione pushing pumpkins off the vacant tower.”

“Napping, also known as sleeping. Meaning if my eyes are closed, chances are I’m trying to sleep,” Harry murmured.

“Was she pretending they were me?” Ron asked.

“You owe her an apology,” Harry said, rolling flat onto his back again. Ron darted behind the curtains of his bed to continue dressing, throwing out his robe. “She pretended several of them were you, yes,” Harry added, fighting the urge to whistle loudly in order to fluster Ron.

“I don’t owe her an apology.”

“Yes, you do. You owe me one too.”

“What?” Ron protested. “Why?”

“What’s more, I owe you one.”

“Fine. You go first,” Ron frowned, pulling his sweats on behind the cover of his bed curtains.

“I’m sorry I’m bisexual, and that you’re uncomfortable with it.”

“I’m not uncomfortable about you being half-poof.”

“Sure you’re not,” Harry said dryly. “I’m sorry I’m bisexual, and I don’t find you attractive.”

“I don’t care if you don’t find me attractive!” Ron wailed. “That’s what Hermione said too! You’re both wrong! I don’t want you to find me attractive.”

“Ron, the idea of you and me having sex is about like the idea of Fred and George having sex. I think of you as my brother. You’re fun because you cheer me up. You don’t care if I don’t live up to the Potter hype that everyone expects. You’re always there to back me up. I love you like blood. But we’re not sleeping together. Ever. Okay?”

“Fine!” Ron wailed. “I don’t want to sleep with you. I think of you as my brother too. You’re a moody, unpredictable, irresponsible git. Inexplicably, you’re also a chick-magnet, not to mention a complete glory-hound. And we’re not sleeping together. Ever. Love me like blood? Where’d you hear that phrase?”

“Don’t remember. Why?”

“Nothing,” Ron said, shaking his head. “It gives me the shivers though.”

“I’m glad we cleared that whole sex thing up.”

“Good.”

“It’s your turn. I’m waiting.”

“Why am I apologizing to you? Because you’re too stupid to see Snape is backing you into an emotional corner so he can hand you over to You-Know-Who?” Ron sulked. 

“He’s not going to hand me over to Voldemort,” Harry sighed. “Has it occurred to you that Severus is in trouble with the Death Eaters? He’s as much a prisoner at Hogwarts as I am. He refused to do what his ‘master’ wanted him to do, and now there’s a price on his head, just like mine. He has put himself in jeopardy for me.”

“So have I,” Ron pointed out miserably.

“But you’re not putting yourself in harm’s way so I’ll sleep with you, are you?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Neither is Severus.”

“The hell he isn’t! You can’t sleep with him. He’s old enough to be your father. And he hated your father. Up until this summer, he hated you!”

“Ron, that might be a cover for how he really feels. He doesn't let himself get attached easily because that would put people he cares about in jeopardy. He lost his wife to a vampire's bite, and even though she's still around, they can never have a real life together. He only agreed to divorce her because he wanted to make her happy. He's not good at getting close to people, and so he compensates by pushing everyone away, especially those he truly cares about."

“And when did you get your psychology degree, Doctor Potter? Don’t be stupid. It's not as complex as all that. If you trust him, he'll betray you. It's that simple. You don’t have to sleep with him because he saved your life either. It’s illegal. It’s immoral. It’s wrong!”

“Ron, stop yelling at me!”

“If he calls for your virginity as payment for the life debt, you can ask for legal intervention by a neutral party, especially considering the fact you’re still a minor.”

“What? I am not a minor. What is a life debt?”

“He saved your life. You owe him. It’s wizard law.”

“He’s saved me several times, and has never asked for a life debt payment yet.”

“Hermione said she’s surprised he hasn’t called for payment, which he’s entitled to by law, but she said it’s probably because of something we don’t know about. It’s the part that’s got her very confused about him too. She actually defended him to me. I can’t take this– both of you need to snap out of it. If you want to know more, ask her. But whatever you do, don’t sleep with Snape.”

“I am not sleeping with him.” 

“You can say it as many times as you like. I still don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve been moaning his name in your sleep,” Ron blurted. “There. I said it. You’ve been humping your bed at night, moaning his name.”

Harry sat up, goggling at Ron in shock. 

“I have not,” he defended, scandalized and amused. Nervous giggling sprang out of his open mouth, and he covered it. 

“You should hear yourself,” Ron muttered in exasperation. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you alone. I couldn’t tell you that in front of Hermione.”

“I have not been moaning for him in my sleep.”

“Yes, you have,” Ron insisted. Harry lay back against his bed and started to laugh again. “It’s not funny. It’s embarrassing. My best friend, the Pride of Gryffindor, Harry Effing Potter, is moaning Severus Snape’s name in his sleep while having wet dreams.”

“I am not sleeping with Severus, and I’ll prove it to you,” Harry said, sitting up and pushing his hands through his hair. 

“How?” Ron asked, deciding not to bring up that Harry was calling Snape by his given name, and that smacked of a familiar relationship indeed. Ron wondered if Snape’s parents even called him by his given name. 

“We’ll go to him and ask for a potion that proves I’m a virgin.”

“We are not going to go ask him for....are you out of your mind?” Ron hissed. “Besides, he could give you any potion and you’d never know the difference.”

“He’s got to have a potion lying around that will show you I’m still a virgin.”

“No, Harry. I don’t care if you’re a virgin,” Ron insisted.

“Sure you do.”

“As long you’re not sleeping with him, I don’t care who you’re shagging. I swear I don’t! You can shag whoever you want. Even Oliver Wood.”

“I’ll ask Professor Snape to give me Veritaserum, and you can ask me all the questions about my sex life you want. But it’s going to be pretty damned boring.”

“No,” Ron refused.

“What do you want? What will it take for you to get off my back about this?”

“I’m not on your back about it,” Ron insisted. “I’m trying to protect you, stupid. Where did Hermione go?”

“Why?”

“I need to apologize, remember?”

“She volunteered to go to Hogsmeade and shop for me, since I couldn’t leave the school.”

“Maybe I’ll go to Hogsmeade and find her.”

“Maybe you’d better dry your hair first.”

“What are you going to do?” Ron asked. 

“He’s going to come with me. To Hogsmeade.”

Both boys screamed and jumped. Ron turned around to get his wand off his bed, while Harry was over the end of his bed like a shot. Harry had Ron pushed behind him, and was facing the door with his wand at the ready. Remus Lupin smiled at them from the doorway.

“Nice reflexes, Potter,” he grinned in a very predatory fashion.


	13. The Great Hall

“Put your finger here,” Hermione pointed.

“Right there?” Ron questioned. She took his hand and guided it. Ron gulped, watching her with sultry eyes.

“Don’t move,” Hermione complained.

“I’m not moving,” Ron replied.

“You’re going to mess it up.”

“I’m not going to mess it up,” Ron said, putting his face in Hermione’s bushy hair while her attention was elsewhere. “Want to go see if the broom closet is free?” he rumbled. 

“What are you two doing?” Professor Snape asked, his voice reverberating in the Great Hall. Scarlet and golden ribbons went everywhere when Ron jerked back from Hermione.

“Nothing,” Ron lied, his voice rising high. 

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione fussed. “Hi, Professor Snape. I’m wrapping Harry’s presents for him. Ron was helping me with the ribbons. That’s all.”

“Was he?” Snape raised a brow at Weasley, and waited for him to move further away from Hermione. He did not miss that Hermione was secretly covering the unwrapped presents with a stretch of colorful paper. “Miss Granger, where is Mr. Potter?”

“I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“You will recall I asked for the courtyard to be completely spotless when you two were done cleaning up those pumpkins carcasses.”

“It is, sir,” she promised.

“Not so much as a measly seed had better be there. Where is Mr. Potter now?”

“Why do you want to know?” Ron asked, his voice deepening with anger. Snape studied him, keeping his arms crossed over his chest and his cloak drawn closed.

“Not that it is any of your concern why I should want to know Mr. Potter’s whereabouts, Mr. Weasley, but I found a certain item belonging to him while cleaning my quarters. I wished to return it. He was not in Gryffindor Tower when I went to leave the item for him. Mr. Weasley, where is Mr. Potter? I know he is not in the school. Where is he?”

“I don’t know where he is right at this particular moment,” Ron replied. 

“We left him in Hogsmeade with Remus Lupin,” Hermione said as she nudged Ron. “We were headed for the joke shop, but Remus wanted to go into the bakery.”

“Lupin is back?” Snape asked. “Already?”

“Yeah, apparently,” Ron muttered. 

“What time was this?” Severus asked. 

“Six?” Hermione guessed, looking towards the ceiling. “Wow, it’s gotten very dark outside. What time is it?”

“Nearly eight,” Snape replied, glancing up as well. 

“Lupin said they’d be back before nine,” Ron interjected. Snape did not look at all placated by this announcement. He turned to Hermione after giving Ron a hostile glance. 

“Miss Granger, please find the Headmaster and tell him I have gone to Hogsmeade to search for Mr. Potter. Does Professor Dumbledore know Lupin is back?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Hermione answered. “But I could go with you and help search,” she offered, standing up.

“No. You will go find the Headmaster,” Snape insisted.

“I’ll go with you, Professor,” Ron said, standing up.

“Are you two under the impression I have forgotten the way to Hogsmeade Village?” Snape glared at them as he raised his voice. 

“No, not at all, sir,” Hermione answered. “But your concern makes us concerned. We’ll come with you and search for Harry too.”

“Miss Granger, tell the Headmaster that Mr. Weasley and I have gone to Hogsmeade in search of Mr. Potter,” Severus reiterated. 

“I could come with you and help search,” Hermione suggested anxiously.

“GO FIND THE HEADMASTER!” Snape yelled at her. Hermione sprinted from the hall as Ron glared hatefully at the Potions Master.


	14. The Search

“Are you sure it was Remus Lupin you left Mr. Potter with?”

“Am I what?” Ron asked, shivering in the cold as they prowled through the streets and alleyways of Hogsmeade. Weasley followed Professor Snape, not at all sure what they were doing eight blocks away from the house that Harry shared with Remus. Why hadn’t they simply flooed to Harry’s house? Why were they clear over here?

“Are you sure the person you left Harry with was Remus Lupin?” Snape repeated.

“What kind of stupid question is that?”

“As someone who has, in theory, studied potions that can change a person’s appearance, I’m surprised you would ask such a question.”

“It looked like Lupin. It sounded like Lupin. It walked and talked like Lupin.”

“The point is, do you have any proof? How long were you around him?”

“What was I supposed to do? Ask for his apparition license?”

“Until the Dark Lord is dead, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter’s life will be in constant danger. At school. In Hogsmeade. London. Little Whinging. He is not safe anywhere. Speaking frankly, as his closest compatriot, it is your solemn duty is to protect him.”

“I know that,” Ron growled.

“Even with your life, if necessary.”

“I know that,” Ron repeated more softly. 

“You know? And yet you left your best friend in the care of someone who may or may not be the person you believe them to be,” Snape snapped. “Next time, you ask for a blood sample if necessary. Is it asking too much for you to use your head, perhaps even get in touch with your intuition?”

“It was Remus Lupin, and Harry will be perfectly all right,” Ron snapped back, shivering. There had been fear in his eyes long enough that Snape knew he had sparked something akin to worry in Weasley. 

Severus stopped at the house on the corner of two blind streets which intersected at a sharp angle. He walked up to the brick pillar at the exact point of the two streets, and uncovered the house numbers– 1375. Ron watched in amazement as Snape pulled the 7 away. The remaining numbers crowded together, undisturbed. Snape calmly continued on down the sidewalk. Ron looked around, shaking his head. Snape handed him the 7.

“If anything happens, subtract six, count to five, and tell it where you want to go.”

“What?” Ron asked, giving the number back. “What is this?”

“A 7. Do you know what seven minus six is?”

“One.”

“How would you make this a 1?” Snape asked, jabbing the number at Ron.

“Bend the end straight.”

“Such a clever boy.”

“What is it?”

“Emergency portkey, dolt,” Severus growled. “Put it in your pocket and hurry up.”

They rounded the corner of the merchant district at a dead run. Madam Grimwood was standing outside her shop, talking with Professor Volkova. Ron raced for them, desperate for anyone as an ally against Snape and his sharp tongue.

“Is something wrong?” Volkova asked. Grimwood avoided Snape’s questioning gaze. 

“Have you seen Harry and Lupin this evening?” Ron asked. 

“Yes,” Volkova smiled. “I was in the bakery. They bought a dozen jam prints and some other items. Cream horns. Sticky buns.”

“Did everything seem normal?” Ron asked as Grimwood continued to avoid Snape’s searching eyes. 

“How did they seem to you? Did Mr. Potter seem worried?” Snape asked. “What occurred during your exchange with them?”

“I asked Lupin why Harry wasn’t at Hogwarts,” Volkova said, her brow furrowing. 

“What did he say?” Snape questioned. 

“Remus told Harry to smile at me, and look helpless and sweet, so I wouldn’t report them to the Headmaster,” she said. “He was very....charming...to....me. Sanguis Christi,” she whispered, her voice dropping away to a softer, more introspective tone as her eyes got wider.AN 6

“See?” Ron said, putting away his wand. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Where did they go?” Snape asked. 

“Inside,” Volkova pointed to the house across the street, and quickly gave Ron her books. Snape stared down at Grimwood, and she ducked his gaze again. 

“Mr. Weasley will stay with me while you get him,” the bookseller said, taking Ron’s hand. Snape agreed with a nod, feeling fear and bile roll around in his stomach. 

“We won’t be a minute,” Volkova promised Ron with a hollow smile. She motioned for Snape to lead the way as she drew out her wand.


	15. The Candles

“How best to proceed?” Volkova asked Snape as they crossed the street, making sure she was beyond earshot for Ron. Grimwood pulled Weasley into the shelter of the doorway, but did not go inside. 

“How long have they been in there?” Severus asked, gulping down loudly once.

“An hour and a half,” Anna whispered, her voice tight. “I should have known. I should have known. I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no time for that. Come along and be quiet as possible. How much time have you spent with Lupin?”

“Not much, but he was never that charming and friendly to me. It should have made me curious in the very least,” she trembled. “I take it we’re not going to knock.”

“The link the Lentus Rapidus made between you and Harry? Have you felt anything?” Snape asked, desperate for whatever advantage there might be to have.

“Nothing since my right arm warmed up this morning,” she whispered.

They stood at the door, and Snape carefully inserted his wand in the lock. The knob turned without a sound. Anna followed on Severus’s footsteps as they prowled into the semi-dark kitchen. A ring of nine candles were burning themselves into the top of the table. There was an empty tea kettle on the stove, turning from red to black. Volkova moved it silently to a dormant back burner and extinguished the flames. 

A box from the bakery lay open on the counter. Severus examined it with the lit tip of his wand. A handful of jam prints were inside. Anna prowled across the kitchen, crouching as she went. She tipped her head sideways, and motioned to the living room. Snape followed her view, stopping at her shoulder.  
Someone had unleashed a fire calamity spell into one corner of the living room, and the furniture was burned in an irregular pattern that stopped suddenly where a water calamity spell had soaked the other half of the room. 

Tea cups by the dozen were strewn about the floor, some in pieces, some fully intact. There was not a saucer to be had though. An open sugar bowl was broken as well. Kneeling down, Snape retrieved a shard of the nearest teacup and put it carefully on his tongue. 

“Sugar,” he whispered, spitting it back out into his hand. 

“He learns fast,” Volkova said proudly. 

Anna pointed up the staircase. Severus proceeded to the first landing, praying these were silent stairs. When they reached the second landing, walking with cat-like steps, they went past a boy’s plaid jacket on the stairs. Snape lifted the dark torso and held it tightly. Harry’s jacket was inside out as if pulled off by a person standing behind him. Severus folded the jacket cautiously over the bannister. On the other side of the stairs, jam cookies were thrown about. Cream horns were smashed into the wall, and their insides were smeared downward. Legible finger streaks skated through the thick, white remains. 

Snape and Volkova continued to move up the stairs into the strangely-still house, their feet moving faster in growing panic. Jam cookies lay everywhere in pieces, one half-eaten. A crushed teacup lay on the threshold of Lupin’s dark and empty bedroom. Sirius’s bedroom was dark and empty as well. 

Half of Harry’s wand was on the steps that led up to his room. A man’s brown cloak was tangled around the bannister, as if ripped off in a hurry or a struggle or both. Snape paused long enough to wonder if he was hearing someone crying. Volkova went past him like a shot. Severus pursued her, angry she had gotten ahead of him. She raised her wand as she burst open the door to Harry’s room with her shoulder. A spell not from her lit the room like a thousand candles, and she dodged back, covering her eyes. She was blinking and staggering when Snape caught her and steadied her. They faced into the doorway together, and Snape introduced a low ‘Lumos’ into the room.

Redness and gore speckled and streaked nearly everything in sight, including the naked young man balled up on the bed. Lingering somewhere between consciousness and dreaming, Harry shivered with fear while he pointed half a wand at them. 

“Harry? Harry! It’s all right,” Snape insisted. Volkova put down her wand and eyed the rest of the room with terror. Snape slowly put down his wand as well. “Harry? What happened?”

Once he saw both their wands were down, Harry lowered his hand. The other half of Harry’s wand slid from his shaking fingers and hit the floor, sticking in a pool of blood as he passed out across the bed.


	16. The Bench

“What did you see when they brought Harry out?” Hermione asked Ron as they sat together outside the hospital wing. McGonagall had banished them from the ward and spell-locked the door against their entry. Weasley was turning the hem of his cloak inside out with his fingers, wringing the material to shreds.

When he had seen the flash of magic light Harry’s room, Ron had rushed across the street, busted through the door, and raced upstairs. Volkova was lifting Harry off the bed, wrapping him in her cloak. One bare leg was all Ron had seen, and that had been enough to tell him what had happened. If that hadn’t been enough, the condition of the rest of Harry and his room certainly would have made the situation crystal-clear. 

Ron would never tell Hermione. She wouldn’t understand how he was dying inside at the knowledge this was his fault. He should have been there to protect his friend, and he hadn’t been. Snape’s words echoed in his head. 

“Not much,” he lied, ducking his head in shame.

“They’ve been in there a long time,” Hermione worried. She reached down and took Ron’s hand, pulling it into both of hers. “At least they got who did it.”

“Hmph,” Ron growled, kicking his feet. 

Ron had stared around in shock at what was left of Lucius Malfoy, spread far and wide, inside and out, all over the room. Snape gathered up Malfoy’s bloody cane, carrying it with a handkerchief wrapped around the snake head. Ron would have gathered up Lucius’s corpse in order to give him a serious thrashing, dead or alive, but Snape pushed him out of the room and closed the door. Downstairs in Harry’s house, Snape pushed Ron through the Floo and back to the school, and then helped Volkova lift Harry and get him through as well.

“This is outrageous! This is impossible!”

Both of the children jumped at the sound of screaming that came up from the staircase. 

“Regardless of what it may seem, Minister Fudge, it is the truth, and I felt you needed to be informed,” came the voice of the Headmaster, surprisingly calm all things considered.

“Have you contacted the authorities? This is Lucius Malfoy.”

“I contacted them immediately.”

“How much time do we have before they arrive? I would like to question Mr. Malfoy.”

“The authorities have already taken away what was left of Mr. Malfoy. It’s not going to be possible to question him, Minister.”

“What?! You sent him to Azkaban without waiting for me?”

“I sent for you and the authorities by two owls which left at the same time. It’s not my fault your owl got delayed by the weather. Did you even read the message? Mr. Malfoy was not sent to Azkaban. He is dead. His remains were taken to St. Mungo’s for examination, by the Head Mortician. Are you listening to me?”

“Malfoy is dead? Potter killed him? There has to be some mistake. You have to be wrong.”

“Why do I have to be wrong?”

“Lucius Malfoy would never commit a crime like this.”

“He savaged Mr. Potter.”

“You can’t prove that. You don’t know that,” Fudge fretted. 

“He savaged Mr. Potter, and he has answered for his actions,” Dumbledore said, anger creeping into his voice.

“We both know Mr. Potter is prone to fantastical tales. Need I say that he is extremely paranoid and suffers from delusions of persecution regarding You-Know-Who? You can’t simply take the word of that clearly-unbalanced boy.”

“I haven’t simply taken Mr. Potter’s word. In fact, he has yet to regain consciousness since he was brought back to the school. What I do have is the testimony of the two people who found them.”

“Absurd! They’re lying. They must be!”

Hermione leapt up with Ron, holding onto his arm to keep him away from the stairs. 

“The Headmaster will straighten him out,” she whispered to Ron as he ground his teeth into pebbles.

“Minister, I know you have your reasons to be cautious before accusing someone as powerful as Lucius Malfoy of a crime such as this,” Dumbledore murmured.

“Proof! We need proof, much more than the word of an attention-hungry child and his two best friends.”

“Minister, the witnesses were not Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. If proof is what you require, I should say Mr. Potter’s condition more than speaks for itself.”

“What condition is that?”

“I’m not going to get specific with you. When the doctor arrives and sees to him, she will give you her report with the details she deems appropriate.”

“Rape is a very serious accusation,” Fudge growled. 

“Did I use the word ‘rape’? I believe I said ‘savaged’.”

“You can use whatever word you like, but I know what you’re aiming at,” Fudge snapped. “You can’t prove that’s what happened. I don’t care what your so-called witnesses think they saw. It could have been consensual. It could have been Mr. Potter asked to be hurt. There are people who are into that, you know.”

There was a burst of magic on the stairs. Minister Fudge came racing to the landing, holding his throat. Dumbledore soon followed, his wand glowing in the darkness. When Dumbledore and Fudge encountered Ron and Hermione, they both came to a halt.

“Sorry. My wand must have slipped,” Dumbledore said, putting his wand away. “Old age,” he added, patting Fudge’s shoulder. “You should have your voice back by morning. We have many things to attend to, Minister, if you would be so kind as to depart. Mr. Weasley will show you out, and do be careful on the steps. I would hate to have you slip and fall to your death in a horrible, grisly manner.”

Dumbledore glared at Fudge with an expression that read like a book of dark tales. The Minister wisely moved away from the Headmaster. 

“Right this way, sir,” Ron said. He hadn’t even reached the stairs when McGonagall appeared out of nowhere, carrying a lantern held aloft. She practically ran him over. Hot on her heels was Doctor Mesarik, who was carrying an infant wrapped against the cold. 

“Sorry to have to appear clear down in the Great Hall. It’s the default Floo this time of year. We haven’t been able to reach Madam Pomfrey,” McGonagall worried. “Thank you for coming, Doctor. Thank you so much.”

The two witches walked past Fudge and Dumbledore without a second glance. The Minister quickly shot away, fleeing while he was still able. Doctor Mesarik bounced her infant in her arms as he fussed. 

“Hush, Dreddy,” she whispered, going to the warded door. 

“Wait. I need to unlock it. What are you two doing out of bed?” Minerva asked Ron and Hermione. 

“We were....we....um....” Hermione stammered to McGonagall.

“Sit on that bench and don’t move. As soon as we know how Harry is, you’ll know how Harry is. I don’t want a word out of either of you,” Minerva said, pointing to the bench in question, where they had been stationed before. Hermione plodded over to the rack of cushions and sat down, not happy at all. Ron extended his arms to Mesarik.

“When my sister was little, I was pretty good at amusing her,” Ron persuaded, opening his arms a bit wider. Timma tentatively gave him her baby. The hospital ward opened from the inside, and Professor Volkova peered out. When she saw Doctor Mesarik, she almost started crying in relief. 

“So good of you to come,” she mumbled, reaching out to draw her inside. The hands she extended was covered with sprays of blood. Doctor Mesarik shed her cloak and coat on the bench and hurried inside. McGonagall followed her. 

“We can’t stop the bleeding,” Volkova was heard to say before the door closed. Ron and Hermione exchanged a horrified look. Ron sat down and held the baby in his arms. Hermione buried her head on Ron’s shoulder and started to cry. Mordred joined in, weeping even louder. The Headmaster walked over to the bench and gave the baby a warm smile.

“Hush, now. Everything is going to be all right,” Albus promised. “Would anyone care for a lemon drop?”


	17. The Prey

“Severus? Come away and rest.” 

“I have been sleeping here,” Snape answered quietly. “Off and on.”

“Harry’s not going to wake for another day or so. Doctor Mesarik gave him very strong sleeping agents.”

“He’s been stirring already,” Snape whispered back as McGonagall planted herself on the far edge of Harry’s bed. “He’ll come around soon. I’ve felt his magic increasing with each passing hour. Can you sense it too? Um....Minerva....you don't think Harry might have...absorbed Lucius's magic, do you?”

Severus’s eyes never left Harry’s face. He reached a hand up and moved strands of hair away from the boy’s eyes. A memory went through Severus, and he frowned tightly against a sudden bolt of strong emotion that threatened to undo his veneer of calm. Minerva wished she could erase the pain that was radiating off both of them. She put a hand on Severus’s shoulder, and he trembled at the touch. 

“Albus is sneaking around the castle, leaving presents everywhere,” she said, changing the subject. When she released Severus’s shoulder, he stopped shivering. 

“Why?” Snape asked. He started at her in confusion, until he counted days in his head. Realization filled his sad eyes. “Ah. How time flies. Well, I’ve never known the Headmaster to be silent and still on Christmas Eve.”

“He said it was important to remember the spirit of the season, especially when things are so very bleak.”

“I hate Christmas,” Snape murmured. 

“Yes, I know,” she soothed.

“I really hate Christmas,” Snape added.

“With good reason, yes, I do understand.”

“Is there any word from Lupin?”

“No. We haven’t been able to locate him or contact him. People return empty-handed, and the owls all return with their notes intact.”

“He was with Miss Tonks, wasn’t he?”

“She has not surfaced either.”

“If Lucius used a Polyjuice potion, he had to have something from Remus to use. Perhaps when either of them finally appears, we should be extraordinarily suspicious of them until they can prove their identities.”

“There are other ways to take on a wizard’s likeness. Mr. Malfoy was always extremely adept with glamour magic and charms. How is Narcissa taking Lucius’s death? What about Draco?”

“I haven’t heard from them. They aren’t answering my messages. I’m not sure about Narcissa,” Snape answered honestly. “Draco will be upset.”

“How are you going to take it?”

Severus coughed up a quick snort, and avoided the question. Snape was obviously in the middle of an internal emotional disagreement over that very topic– while he cared about Lucius as a friend and school mate, his feelings for Harry and about Harry were something altogether harder to explain or understand. McGonagall didn’t want to press him, wanted to give him time to sort things out for himself. To have one person he loved violently attack another person he loved wasn’t going to be an easy thing to deal with, especially when he had lived through that once in his life already with his parents. 

“Volkova said it looked like a distortion spell. Mr. Potter must have wrestled an arm free of the restraints and grabbed Mr. Malfoy’s....um....yes...well. Once the spell was cast, Lucius went far and wide, like smashing a piece of over-ripe fruit. By the time the spell should have brought him back together, he had already lost his internal organs and bled to death, all over Harry, all over the bed,” Minerva made careful conversation.

“Essentially, Lucius was turned inside out and back again. It couldn’t have been pleasant,” Snape put in. “I hope it was painful,” he added sadistically, touching Harry’s cheek. 

“It’s no wonder Harry was in shock, having seen something like that, on top of what had already happened to him. Poor boy. Poor dear boy,” Minerva said as she shook her head. 

“Perhaps you should reconsider teaching the distortion spell in Transfigurations.”

“I never taught him that one. He picked it up somewhere else,” Minerva insisted. 

“Ten points to Gryffindor for creative use of non-violent spells in life-threatening situations,” Snape whispered. 

Minerva petted Harry’s closest foot with a careful hand, studying the boy’s face. His lightning bolt scar stood off his forehead, irritated and red. He held his mouth in a tight line of angry concentration, even in his sleep. There was no trace of the cuts and bruises that had covered him when he was brought home. McGonagall shivered with remembrance, and rubbed Potter’s foot some more. She had seen the dagger that Malfoy had used to cut and slice at Harry. Minerva had even seen the wounds themselves, opening again and again until Doctor Mesarik found the correct white magic spells to counter-act Lucius’s black magic ones. The floor around Harry's bed was covered with the white runes that Volkova and Snape had drawn on the ground with special chalk while Mesarik read a protection spell to them out of one of the most ancient tomes in the entire school library. Mr. Malfoy had walked the Left Hand Path– there was no doubt in Minerva’s mind!

“You and your cousin did a fine job healing Harry,” Minerva commented, deciding that was all she’d better say. Snape accepted the compliment absently. It irritated him more than pleased him. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened,” McGonagall added tentatively.

“I don’t blame myself. I blame Lucius Malfoy, and I blame Lord Voldemort.” Severus smoldered with helpless fury.

“Mr. Weasley is tearing his heart out, pacing around the Gryffindor Common Room. I don’t need two of you to deal with,” Minerva continued, completely unconvinced. 

“I will not let this stand unanswered. Harry deserves to be revenged for this humiliation. If there’s a way....if there’s a way....”

“Severus, don’t be stupid. We’re exceptionally lucky Lucius didn’t kill Harry. He had plenty of time, more than enough time.”

“He wasn’t there to kill him. His job was to humiliate the child, to violate him.”

The words stuck in Snape’s throat. Potter moved defensively in his sleep, pushing both of them away from his bed with jagged bolts of magic that expanded outwards, putting them on their butts on the floor. 

“My word!” McGonagall gasped when Snape helped her to her feet. Once the reddish lightning had evaporated and the smoke cleared, Severus reached for Harry’s hand.

“Harry, you’re safe. Try and rest,” Snape said quietly. Potter took a short breath or two, relaxed, and drifted away again. 

“We’d better alert the Headmaster,” Minerva decided.

“As you wish,” Severus agreed. 

“What kind of spells did Lucius do on him? Could the Boy have absorbed some of Malfoy's magic? Not purposefully, of course. But what if Harry reversed or deflected a spell that Lucius tried to use on him? Is that what happened?”

Snape shook his head, kissing Harry’s hand before tucking it carefully into his covers.

‘I’ll make the Dark Lord pay for this, Harry, if it’s the last thing I do,’ he thought, caressing Potter’s cheek once more. 

“You-Know-Who did this to provoke Albus, and to provoke you. At least the Headmaster can see that and isn’t going to give into the temptation to respond in kind. I want you to promise me you won’t react rashly to this,” McGonagall begged. 

“Have you ever known me to behave rashly?” Severus was in full denial. 

“Once or twice, yes. What do we do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“The only person who could tell us where Remus is is being carefully reconstructed in the morgue at St. Mungo’s. We need answers from Lucius. It’s a shame Potter killed him.”

“Harry had no choice. Besides, I’m willing to bet that Lucius didn’t act entirely on his own. He had help. He was never good at brewing potions, and if he used a Polyjuice–“

”He didn’t have to,” Minerva corrected.

“I said if,” Severus answered crossly. “If Lucius used a Polyjuice, he would have needed help to brew it.”

“Should we bring in Narcissa and Draco, and find out what they know?”

“Direct questioning will get us nowhere. If we give them time, they will reveal what they know without our prompting them or putting them on the spot. Give them time, and they will reveal all they know, by action or by word.”

“As you wish.”

“I know who I’m dealing with– fellow Slytherins.”

“We need to ask them why Lucius did what he did, what he hoped to accomplish, and....why are you smirking?”

“Minerva, Lucius did what he did because the Dark Lord commanded him to do it. What he hoped to accomplish was upsetting Harry to the point that he can no longer summon his magic to defeat the Dark Lord. Lucius clearly underestimated Mr. Potter’s wizarding resources.”

“Perhaps we all have,” McGonagall whispered. 

“We don’t need to know why or what Lucius wanted to accomplish. What we need to know is how long he has been free from Illumina’s Bliss blessing, and what the bloody hell he’s done with Remus Lupin.”

“What if Narcissa and Draco don’t tell us what they know, or can’t tell us anything because there is nothing to know?

“Harry is going to help us. It may not be tomorrow. I suspect he’ll need two or three days at least to recover his strength. But if we give Harry something that Lucius was holding or carrying, he can get a reading off of it.”

“You can’t expect this of Harry. It’s too soon.”

“It will be the last thing Voldemort expects. He will not be prepared for it. He will be waiting for signs that this attack has defeated Harry’s will, that he has crushed the boy by doing this to him. We must not coddle Harry. We have to make him understand that he cannot show weakness because of this. It’s what they’ll be waiting for. It’s what they long for, don’t you see?”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“We let the Dark Lord make him angry. It has proven to be the best way to spark the boy into action in the past.”

“The Headmaster considered using the Pensieve on Harry, erasing all memory of the incident.”  
“No.”

“It might be the best thing.”

“No, it would not.”

“How do you know it wouldn’t help him?”

“They erased my memory you know, after my mother was killed. My uncle and my grandfather said it would stop my nightmares if I let Dumbledore take away my thoughts and hide them in the shiny dish. Nightmares?” Snape scoffed. “No. You have no idea. I spent two decades angry with my father, and I had no idea why. Two decades of fury burning in the pit of my stomach, and no explanation why. No explanation until Albus let me have those memories back, and it made sense, finally it made sense. How do you think that made me feel? Finding out what had been kept from me for so long. The mind may forget, but the body remembers. You can erase Harry’s mind, but not his body, not his soul. It won’t do any good.”

“You were five when your mother died. What did you know of anger?” Minerva asked.

“I knew enough of anger, believe me. I watched my father hold my mother under the water in her tub until she was dead. I remember her every kick and scratch, her every struggle for breath, and I remember how terrified I was, how I couldn’t move, how I stood and stared and didn’t help her. If I hadn’t been his only son and heir, his path to inheritance from his father, I’d’ve been the next one in the tub. Don’t delude yourself. When they asked Dumbledore to erase my memory of that night, my uncle and grandfather were doing what was best for them, not what was best for me. Couldn’t have the boy blabbing that his father was a murderer, no, couldn’t have that.”

“It stopped your nightmares,” Minerva repeated.

“The mind may forget but the body remembers. Do you know how long it took for me to be able to get into a bathtub?”

“Years. I know. I had a hard enough time convincing you to bathe when you arrived at Hogwarts.”

“Do you want to give Harry the same phobia for beds? His bedroom at Hogsmeade? Jam cookies? Teacups? Plaid flannel pajamas? You can take away the monster but the shadow will remain.”

“There’s no guarantee Harry would react that way.”

“We must not coddle him. We will give him more strength by treating this incident as one he cannot change, but must accept and move away from, or we will cripple him for life. What’s more, we have to be certain he understands this in no way changes how much we care about him.”

“Why would it?” Minerva flinched.

“You know what I’m talking about– encouraging him to stay pure to heighten his powers as a wizard. He’s going to fear we don’t care about him anymore. We simply must assure him otherwise.”

“Naturally. That goes without saying.”

“No. It must be said. It must be proven to him.”

“What of Mr. Malfoy?”

“Lucius will trouble us no more.”

“I meant the other Mr. Malfoy. I dread the idea that he may have had foreknowledge of this before it occurred.”

“Why on earth would Lucius tell Draco what he was going to do?” Severus questioned. “It makes sense that other Death Eaters may know, but Malfoy Younger is not one of their rank yet, so far as I am aware.”

“Lucius always needed the adoration of others to make himself feel important. You yourself have served often enough that way. He needed an audience to play for, an audience to amuse. He would have told someone other than those in on the plan, you mark my words, and Draco is the obvious choice.”

“An audience?” Severus laughed darkly. “Perhaps you’re right. I will deal with Draco. If he so much as breathes to Harry about this, I’ll have him hanging in the Slytherin Common Room by his thumbs. If he’s lucky, it’ll be his thumbs.”

“I leave your students in your capable hands, of course.”


	18. The Doctor

“In your medical opinion, Doctor Mesarik, when will Mr. Potter be well enough to travel?” Severus asked as his cousin leaned over Harry. She cautiously lifted his arm to take his pulse– cautiously, because the last time she had tried to check his vitals, he was just conscious enough that all hell had broken loose in the hospital ward. 

“That’s a tricky one to answer,” Timma replied. “It’s inhuman, what you’re considering.”

“It’s not inhuman. I wouldn’t ask it of him if I didn’t feel it was necessary.”

“I’ll be surprised if he ever wants to step foot in that house again.”

“The signature will be stronger at the location of the event. But do you believe it would be easier to bring Malfoy’s personal effects here?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, no. You want Harry to do it again?”

“No.”

“Wasn’t this morning enough of a demonstration for you?”

“Yes. It was quite impressive,” Snape mused. 

“Mother of all creation,” Timma muttered, putting Harry’s arm back down. “Fifteen centaurs and an enraged manticore?! That was enough for me, thank you very much. In my medical opinion, you’d better badger Mr. Potter as little as possible until he’s himself again.”

“You can hardly tell,” Severus said, glancing around the newly-refurbished ward. “They were understandably annoyed at being apparated here against their will. But the house elves did an admirable job in setting the place to rights.” 

“Where did he find a manticore? How did he get it here? Hogwarts is warded against apparition except by the house elves, isn’t it?”

“In theory,” Severus murmured. “Dumbledore is consulting with wiser minds to find out how Harry’s bending his way around the magic of the castle.”

“Dumbledore can find wiser minds than his own?” Timma smiled. “I doubt very many.”

“He’s in the Black Queen’s Tower.”

“Going to the source, eh? I am impressed.”

“The Black Queen is the one who built the original cell of the castle. We’ve merely built around her castle in the many centuries since.”

“If you must do what you’re planning, I recommend going by Floo. No more than two hours out of bed for my patient, and that includes both going to London to Olivander’s shop to get a new wand and going to the house in Hogsmeade afterwards. You might consider asking Mr. Olivander if he would be so kind as to make a house call, under these circumstances. Mr. Potter needs to rest. Aren’t you even going to open your present? Dreadful helped me wrap it. You’ll notice the milk stains if you look too closely.”

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, and for staying till after the new year. I didn’t mean to interrupt your holiday plans. I will save the present for later, when I’m in a more festive mood,” he said, indicating the slender box in his grip. “Please quit calling the baby ‘Dreadful’. His name is Mordred.”

“My plans? Sitting around Grandfather’s mansion, feeling myself grow old among the antiques? Oh, Sev, you’re such a wart. You always have been, since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Do you remember when you first laid eyes on me?” he asked as she lifted the present out of his hands and put it under the holiday tree Hagrid had secreted into the hospital ward. Harry’s presents littered the floor. Severus might have been imagining things, but they appeared to multiply every hour they waited to be opened. Presents were arriving from far and wide for Potter. 

“As I recall, I offered you a pre-sampled lollipop, and you took my dolly from me.”

“Her head was missing. It was disconcerting, seeing you walk around the house with a headless doll in your grip.”

“I didn’t love her any less without a head, you know. I wasn’t fooled by the ball you sealed on her body as a replacement, either.”

“What did you do with your soggy offspring?”

“Professor McGonagall is minding him for me. She’s put a basinet in her office and everything. She’s gotten attached to him.”

“She’s very motherly.”

“Yes, she is. Professor Volkova, on the other hand, is a tad nervous around small children. Squeamish, even. I thought she was a vampire killer.”

“Former vampire killer.”

“It’s funny watching both of you with Dreddy. You and she hold him at arm’s length, like he’s contagious,” Timma mused. “There’s that sour look again.” 

“I had good reason to be sour, when you met me. I was very upset, and you were incredibly annoying,” Severus said quietly. 

“I wanted to cheer you up.”

“You followed me everywhere.”

“I wanted company.”

“You had brothers already.”

“But they thought I was pointless because I was a girl. You taught me how to read and how to count– valuable skills I have used often since. My brothers never liked me. They like me even less since I gave Grandfather his first great-grandson.”

“You three are far too competitive with each other.”

“You got off easy, being an only child.”

“Perhaps I did. Mordred has your face. He has the family look, I should say,” Severus murmured. 

“Thank goodness. What an unpleasant reminder it would have been otherwise. So, Sev, since you’ve officially divorced Illumina, does that mean you have plans to get married and make an heir of your own?” she asked impatiently. “I recall something about the necessity of having an heir if you hope to inherit from Grandfather. What? You’re squinting. Did I ask something verboten?”

“Perhaps I might. Someday. Not now. Not soon. Besides, my father gave up all rights to Grandfather’s money, as penance for Mother’s death, remember?”

“Penance– what a curious concept. He gave up his rights to the money, not your rights. At least that’s how Grandfather feels about it. He asked about you when he came to see Mordred. ‘How’s Severus coming along? Still locked in the dungeon with his school books and his potions, eh?’ You should visit him sometime. It wouldn’t kill you. He’s not getting any younger. He misses you.”

“I might visit him,” Severus agreed reluctantly. 

“He’s one hundred twenty years old. You’d better hurry. The children and I are going to go make snow angels in the courtyard. Care to join us?”

“Snow angels? Do I look to you like the sort of man who goes around throwing himself into snowfall to make decorative patterns? Angels? Nonsense.”

“Don’t you believe in angels, Sev?”

“No, I do not.”

“I do,” she smiled strangely, in a manner that made him question her sanity. Again.

“You aren’t really going to take Mordred out in this weather, are you? Do you know how susceptible to colds and illnesses babies are?”

“Yes, as a pediatrician of some acclaim, I do know. Oh, Sev,” she laughed merrily, bending down to kiss him on the top of the head. “Wart, wart, wart. You should come outside for a breath of fresh air. Stretch your legs.”

“I’ll stay,” Snape said, gazing back at Harry’s sleeping form. He bolted up from his chair when he saw Potter’s eyes were open again. Unlike the other times in the last couple of days when Harry had been awake but not aware, this time there seemed to be a sharp, focused expression on his face. Doctor Mesarik went to the other side of the bed when Snape loomed behind her. 

“How do you feel?” Timma said, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Malfoy,” Harry hissed, trying to rise up in spite of her insistence not to do so.

“You need to remain as calm and immobile as possible.”

“Where’s my wand?” Harry wanted to know. 

“Broken,” Severus rumbled. Harry gasped in pain. 

“Broken?” he echoed. Didn’t Harry remember half-blinding Volkova with what was left of his wand? Did he not remember mangling a Lumos Maximus (AN 7) into a Lumos Mandere (AN 8), and making Volkova see spots for two days? Harry stared away, holding his side. Doctor Mesarik put a tentative hand over his ribs. 

“Are you in pain? Where do you hurt?”

“It doesn’t matter. I have to get Malfoy,” Harry growled. 

“That’s the spirit,” Snape smiled darkly. “What do you remember?”

“Severus, not now,” Timma said. “Mr. Potter, you are to remain in bed. I don’t like your color yet. Do you hear me? I want you to remain completely horizontal for another two days.”

“Why do I feel so different? I’m empty,” Harry said frantically, raising his eyes to them for answers. “My magic? Did Malfoy steal my magic? Am I still a wizard?”

“Of course you’re still a wizard,” Timma soothed. “No one took your magic. You’re under a dampening spell.”

“There were centaurs everywhere in here this morning.” Snape motioned around him. “In the window frame behind you? See the hoof prints? Where the hell did you get a manticore? Even as we speak, Hagrid is trying to figure out how to talk Dumbledore into keeping the thing.”

“What’s wrong with my magic?” Harry questioned. 

“The Headmaster put a Wet Blanket on you. It’s a dampening spell,” Snape said. Potter tilted his head and searched around the room with squinting eyes. Timma went and traced a hand over the place in question where several half-moons dented the wood.

“The centaurs from the Dark Forest?” Harry asked, having trouble tracking still. That shouldn't have been a complete surprise, all things considered.

“They weren’t happy. The place was turned upside-down with their stampeding about. Dumbledore decided that before you moved up the food chain from centaurs and manticores to Norwegian Ridgebacks again that he’d better put a Wet Blanket on your magic, at least until you were awake enough to control it,” Severus explained. 

“Can you undo the spell? We have to get Malfoy,” Harry insisted, annoyance clear in his ill-colored face. 

“How did Lucius trick you? At what point did you realize it was not Remus Lupin?” Severus asked. Harry’s face clouded over with fear and pain. Did the boy not realize that Lucius was dead? Timma must have been thinking the exact same thing. She opened her mouth to speak, but Severus shook his head no. 

“When he started tearing off my clothes,” Harry rasped hotly. “Got any other stupid questions?”

“May I see into your mind?” Severus asked, reaching for his hand. Harry withdrew in fear, pulling away. “I only want to help,” Snape added, softening his voice. His heart stopped when he saw the fear in Harry’s eyes. 

“I knew when he touched me. Everything got foggy after we had our tea in the kitchen. He drugged me with a potion,” Harry rambled, closing his eyes and keeping his hands out of Snape’s reach. “I saw him standing at the wooden counter of a shop. The man behind it gave him a tiny vial. ‘Put it in his tea. He won’t taste nothing but honey.’ I tried to get away from him,” he added, his voice going weaker.

“You gave him an admirable challenge,” Severus said. 

“How did I get back to Hogwarts?” Harry asked, opening his eyes and gazing blankly around the ward. Severus picked up the dark-rimmed spectacles on the table. True to their guarantee, the glasses had not been broken. It had taken several washings and a heavy-duty cleansing spell to get them clean again, but they had not been broken. 

“Here. Put these on. We have to talk.”

Harry slid on the glasses and glared at Snape. 

“There’s no time for talk. I want to make Lucius pay for what he did before he weasels his way out of it,” Harry growled.

“Harry, Lucius is dead,” Severus said simply.

“He is?” Potter’s eyes went wide.

“What’s more, it appears you killed him.”

Harry blinked at Snape and didn’t reply. It appeared that the news had been a surprise to the boy. 

“He’s dead? You’re sure?”

“He drugged your tea, dragged you upstairs, attacked you?” Snape asked. 

“Yes,” Harry answered hoarsely.

“You grabbed him in a somewhat lucid moment, used a distortion spell on him, and turned him into goo,” Timma murmured. 

“Am I in trouble?” Harry trembled.

“Minister Fudge did his best to make it sound like intentional homicide, but the other wizards on the tribunal decided you acted in self-defense. You were tried in absentia this morning, the vultures,” Severus murmured darkly. “He wouldn’t even wait for you to be there to defend yourself. Dumbledore went as your representative. Fudge is hot for your blood, boy. I suggest we keep him a safe distance from you.”

“You are not in trouble,” Timma reassured Harry. “I’m sorry, but I had to make your condition public knowledge for them.”

“Oh no.” Harry’s face went pale. 

“I am sorry. It was the only way I could make them understand the severity of your condition, that it was not something you would have requested,” she said. Harry gave a cynical ‘hmph’, shaking his head. 

“Bastards,” he commented. 

“The problem is, Harry,” Severus said. “We don’t know where the real Remus Lupin is. We haven’t been able to find him or Miss Tonks either one.”

Harry studied Severus for a space of seconds before putting his eyes on the floor.

“You want me to touch something that belongs to Lucius or to Remus? I don’t know if I can do that,” Harry gulped, his eyes filling with tears.

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t an emergency. We have to find Lupin and Tonks.”

“Severus, stop pressuring him,” Timma interjected softly.

“What do you remember?” Snape asked Harry.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Harry turned away again.

“I saw your injuries. I know what you must have gone through. Do you want Voldemort lording that over you?”

“No.”

“What about Draco? Do you want him mocking you for it?”

“Draco knows?”

“There are those that feel Lucius might have told Draco before coming to find you, yes. You don’t want to give Voldemort the satisfaction he seeks in knowing you have been injured. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Harry nodded vaguely, lowering his head. 

“Then you can’t let anyone see this,” Snape said in an authoritative tone, putting a hand on Harry’s wet cheek. “Put your pain away. Don’t let Voldemort have it. Do you understand what I’m telling you? Don’t give him the power over you. Don’t give him your pain.”

Harry nodded, drying off his face and clearing his throat. 

“The Headmaster would give you a speech about forgiveness and learning to move on with your life, but you aren’t going to get that from me. Slytherins are not about forgiveness. It happened. You cannot undo it. Move beyond it. Don’t you dare, for a single second, forgive Malfoy for what he has done to you. He had no right, and he does not deserve your forgiveness.”

“Do you really think he told Draco?” Harry whispered, horrified.

“We’re not sure,” Timma said.

“Some of us are,” Severus said. Harry heaved heavily with momentary panic, trying to collect himself. “It makes you angry, doesn’t it? You’d like to make Lucius pay for what he’s done, but he’s dead, so you can’t take out your anger on him.”

“No, I can’t,” Harry whispered.

“I want you to take all the anger you’re feeling for Lucius and put it right next to your heart. And the first person who gets in your face about what happened to you, let them feel the brunt of your fury. Your anger can be a shield and a weapon, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed. “Yes, it can.”

“Thank Merlin you know the name of a competent therapist,” Timma muttered. “I’ll ring ahead and let Artemis know you’ll need her services in about ten years, Harry, when you have a nervous breakdown on the train to work,” she added reproachfully. 

“You disagree with my recommendations?” Severus asked.

“Disagree?” Her voice rose. “You shouldn’t hold in your anger until you explode from it. No, you cannot do that.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“You’ll end up like me, with a dead husband buried in your backyard frog pond,” Timma answered. Harry rubbed his scar, and closed his eyes.

“Did Voldemort see?” Severus asked. Harry ducked his head. “He watched through you?” Harry’s head drooped lower still. 

“Yes,” the boy admitted. 

“Severus, stop it,” Timma growled. She took one of Harry’s hands, holding on tight. 

“Are you sure Malfoy is dead?” Harry asked.

“It took several buckets to carry all of him out of your room. Yes, we can be reasonably certain Lucius Malfoy is dead,” Severus answered, smiling grimly. 

“At least he can’t buy his way out of this one,” Timma said. 

“He’s not going to get away with this,” Harry decided, sitting up slowly. He wobbled as he stood, but he made it all the way to his feet.

“Harry, you need to rest,” Timma said.

“I have to find Remus.”

“You need to rest. Severus will make arrangements. In two days, you will have a new wand, and you will be able to go to the house and touch something that belongs to Mr. Malfoy or Mr. Lupin. You’ll be able to find Remus then.”

“Two days is too long to wait,” Harry decided. 

“You’ve lost a great deal of blood, and you’ll need to be back in bed as quickly as possible,” Timma told him. 

“Two days is too long,” Harry repeated, wobbling. Severus steadied him. 

“One day, perhaps?” Snape murmured, holding Harry upright. 

“At least one day,” Timma said, guiding Harry back to bed. 

“What if something happens in one day?” Harry worried.

“I will bring things of Lupin’s from the house. You can start from your bed,” Severus offered. “All right?” 

Harry sank back into the mattress, finding the pillows with his head.

“Okay,” he answered, closing his eyes against a heavy sigh. Severus straightened Harry’s legs under the covers as Timma brought him a glass of water.


	19. The House

When Harry, Snape, and McGonagall appeared through the Floo into the kitchen of the house in Hogsmeade, Harry was going over the visit to Olivander in his mind as he fingered the new wand in his cloak pocket. It had previously belonged to a young witch who had died because in a moment of randy insanity, she had inserted it in a particular place tip-first. The considerable magic of the wand had ignited, and she had come and gone in one fateful blast. However satisfied, she was very much dead. Olivander hadn’t explained these events to Harry, for obvious reasons. He had cautioned Harry not to buy the wand because it might be bad luck. The way his luck had been lately, bad sounded like a big improvement to Harry.

The wand had leapt out of its box at Potter’s mere approach, shivering with excitement. Harry felt it would have bad manners not to at least give it a chance to prove itself. He had sensed when he touched the smooth wood that the wand had not at all influenced the witch in her misguided actions, and it was anxious to be of use to him. Olivander said he would contact Harry if he managed to repair the phoenix feather wand, but not to get his hopes up. Harry needed a wand, and this wand wanted an owner desperately. Harry had paid for the wand, and taken up a polish cloth to give the object a nice rubdown. It hummed happily with the attention. 

“What’s this wand made of?” he wanted to know from Olivander. Oak wood and crup hairs was the answer. No wonder it was so eager to please, Harry had thought with a smirk.

“Are you sure you want that one?” Snape had asked. Maybe someday Harry would tell him about the wand’s past. Would it amuse Severus to know? Or would he think Harry had finally lost his mind? Knowing what people were up to was one thing, but being able to read what objects were thinking? Even believing that objects could have conscious thoughts might have been enough to get Harry a permanent suite at Hotel Mungo, one right next to Lockhart and the Longbottoms.

Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by a pair of luminous green eyes that narrowed critically at him from less than three feet away. A pair of people were walking around the room. They were as mismatched as any socks Harry had ever worn. One was a thin witch with short, red hair and cream-white skin. She might have been twenty. She also might have been an escaped Weasley, Harry thought. The other stranger was a tall wizard in his mid to late thirties. The menacing green eyes belonged to him. His night-black hair was braided down his back to his waist. He had an olive complexion, and a sour pickle expression.

“From the looks of this place, Nim, Potter’s lucky to be alive.”

“Who are you two, and how did you get here?” Snape asked as Dumbledore appeared out of the Floo seconds later. The two people gaped at the group that had appeared so suddenly.

“How was Olivander?” Dumbledore asked with a smile. 

“He sends you his regards,” McGonagall replied. 

“His regards?” Dumbledore countered. “What about the twenty galleons from our last chess match? Hmm? Now, who are you two, and how did you get in here?” Albus asked the silent, gawking people. The young witch was not nearest the group, but she jumped out of her trance, taking a step forward.

“Manglebranch and Nimblewyck,” she said. Simultaneously, they produced law-enforcement Auror badges as proof. “We’re here on a private investigation. The door was open and the wards were down. Mr. Potter? Should you be out of bed?” she asked, giving him her arm. She guided him to a chair and set him down, still holding onto his arm. Her investigation partner was clearly in a mood. He was pacing by the stove, rolling his eyes at her. 

“Did the Minister of Magic send you?” Snape asked. 

“No,” the man replied. “We were hired by interested parties, and that’s all we can tell you. They wanted an objective investigation of the events.”

“May I see your credentials?” Snape demanded. He snatched up the badges and studied them thoroughly. “Everything appears to be in order,” Snape decided when Harry leaned more heavily on the witch’s arm, wearing a tiny smile.

“We won’t disturb your work,” Dumbledore promised, standing next to Harry. The witch finally let go of Potter’s arm, and picked up her notepad off the table. 

“Draco Malfoy sent you to see if I’m telling the truth?” Harry asked her. Nimblewyck went redder, and stammered sheepishly. 

“I don’t know how you know that. We aren’t at liberty to say who hired us,” she replied. Harry frowned momentarily. “But don’t let that scare you. We came from St. Mungo’s, saw what was left of your attacker. Once his insides were inside again and we had a good look at his outside, it was pretty easy to make out what had happened from the marks on his body. We read your doctor’s report as well. Clear case of self defense as far as I’m concerned. May I say, Mr. Potter, job well done.”

“Nim,” the man growled when she grinned.

“What?” she defended, brow furrowing with annoyance.

“Do I need to define the word 'objective' for you?”

Nimblewyck rolled her eyes at Manglebranch before she smiled affectionately at Harry once more. 

“What’s the point of another investigation if the tribunal already decided that Harry acted in self defense?” McGonagall wanted to know. 

“Our interested party wants to know the truth,” Manglebranch answered. “But if we’re disturbing you, we’ll leave.”

He motioned to Nimblewyck. She pocketed her notebook and quill, reaching for Harry’s hand in order to shake it gingerly. 

“I’m glad you’re going to be all right, Mr. Potter,” she said before following Manglebranch out the back door. Severus gave half a thought to following them, but Dumbledore was already walking out the portal after the investigators. 

“Are they genuinely what they said?” Snape asked Harry, knowing that Potter had taken the opportunity to read Nimblewyck. Harry stared out the opened door, tilting his head in curiosity. In spite of all things, the boy had been speechlessly flattered by the young witch’s attention. He had a dazed look in his haunted eyes. When he did finally nod, it satisfied Snape’s mind. 

“Where shall we begin?” McGonagall asked.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Harry whispered, focusing on the house again. The dazed look washed away to fear once more. 

“Remus Lupin needs your help,” Severus said. 

“I’m afraid,” Harry stammered. 

“We all are,” McGonagall answered, squeezing his shoulder tenderly. Snape put a hand in the middle of Harry’s back.

“You are not going to give Lucius the satisfaction, remember?” he added sternly. “You are going to walk into Lupin's room, and get a sense of where Remus is if you can.”

Harry steeled himself and stared around. As he gazed about, his brow furrowed. 

“The place is a mess. Did they march the whole bloody Ministry of Magic through here? I can't believe they left the door open and the wards down! There’s footprints and marks all over the carpet,” he said crossly. “Remy’s going to kill me if he sees the house like this. What the hell happened in the living room?”

“Do you remember where the teacups came from?” Minerva asked, seeing all the shards lying about. 

“I picked up the sugar bowl and threw the cubes at Lucius, transfigured them. I don’t remember asking for teacups though. I wanted knives.”

“Element to element, Mr. Potter. If you wanted knives, you should have thrown thumbtacks at him, not sugar cubes,” McGonagall chided. 

“The cubes didn’t slow him down, not even as teacups. I tried to use my charisma spell, but I was too drugged at that point. I could hardly stand. Someone else is in the house,” Harry said, getting to his feet in a rush.

“Are you sure?” Snape asked, pulling out his wand. McGonagall held hers close too.

“I can feel someone here,” Harry said. 

“Can you make it up the stairs?” Severus asked. Harry reached for Snape’s arm but hesitated as if to ask if it was all right to do so. Severus slid an arm gently around his waist, steadying him. 

“If at any point you want to leave, you let us know,” Minerva said. “I’ll check the house floor by floor. Don’t go further up the stairs until I let you know it’s clear, all right? Any sign of trouble, you go back through the Floo. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they replied as one. It was a long climb up the stairs. The clothes and food had not been removed from the steps, and it was clear from Harry’s face that he was remembering bits and pieces the further up into the house they progressed. 

“Part of your wand was on the steps up to your room,” Severus said, pointing. Harry nodded, reaching forward to touch the wall. Snape pulled his hand back. “Not yet, I think. In fact, try to avoid touching anything at all, if you can.”

“Wonder if I could read with bare feet,” Harry pondered, leaning more on Severus as they neared his room.

“All clear, in a manner of speaking,” McGonagall called from the attic. “Severus, I don’t want Harry to see this. Can I bring you an object? A pillow? We could go into Remus’s room, couldn’t we?”

"I didn't have any luck with Remy's things," Harry said forlornly. "I tried for two days. Nothing. I keep seeing sand and sunshine and water. It'll have to be something from Lucius."

“The reading will be stronger from in there,” Snape pointed into Harry’s room. “What is it?” he asked when she appeared at the door, frowning down the steps at them.

“There’s blood everywhere. They didn’t clean up the room. I mean, they took samples of evidence, surely, and all of Lucius they could reach, but it’s a charnel house, Severus, and the boy really doesn’t need to see it.”

“The boy really doesn’t mind, ma’am,” Potter said, clinging to the railing and climbing up to where she stood. He waited for McGonagall to let him pass. Very slowly, Minerva allowed Harry in the room.

“Oh...my...” Harry whispered. He sat down on the floor with a tremendous exhale. Snape was kneeling beside him immediately. 

“Are you all right? Are you in pain?” Severus fretted, tenderly cupping Harry’s arm as the boy stared around in horror. 

The room was covered in blood. The purple bed was coated in a layer inches thick, and it had dried to a nasty, crusty coating of goo. It was very easy to make out the shape of a stretched-out body underneath the shadows of disjointed limbs of a second body in the blood. Strands of long blond hair were everywhere, visible to the naked eye. Harry drew his legs up to his chest and leaned his head on his knees, quivering. There were rips and tears straight through the covers of the bed. It hummed when Harry put a hand forward. He flinched back in terror. Snape stayed between Harry and the bed. 

“He doesn’t need to go through this. I’ll find out what the investigators did with Malfoy’s clothes, and if Harry can get a reading off of them, fine,” McGonagall said. She moved to help Harry stand, but he pulled her down next to him. 

“Professor, it’s all right,” he whispered. 

“No, it’s not,” she said sadly, holding onto his hand. 

“He’s dead. He’s gone. He can’t hurt me. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Hush, child. Don’t cry,” McGonagall murmured, putting her arms around Harry. “This was such a mistake,” she said to Snape as Harry leaned tentatively on her shoulder. Snape stood to his feet, suddenly vitriolic with anger. McGonagall wondered what was wrong until she heard the voice behind her. 

“Aren’t you full of surprises, Mr. Potter?”

Harry went silent and pale, his hands tightening into fists. In the darkest corner of the ruined room, a phantasmal shape was shimmering as it took on a more-apparent form. It hovered off the ground, coming closer and getting more solid. 

“Lucius?” Severus whispered, standing between the ghost and Mr. Potter.

“At least it’s a decent outfit,” Malfoy said, indicating his clothes. “Leave it to you to be here, Severus. When the Dark Lord gets his hands on you, what happened to Potter will seem like a day at the circus.”

“Keep your distance, if you please,” Snape hissed. He smirked through his anger, pointing his wand at Lucius. The Malfoy ghost gave a grisly smile.

“And here is our lovely Mr. Potter. How it warms my heart to see you. Up and around already? I didn’t do a very thorough job, did I? You know, the moment I knew I was going to die, it was my most fervent wish to haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Harry clenched his fists tighter, refusing to look up at the ghost. Snape gave Malfoy a poke with his wand, and Lucius moved back away from Harry. 

“Killed by a distortion spell. What a stupid way to die,” Malfoy mourned. “What? I didn’t hear you, Potter.”

“I was trying to Avada you. I couldn’t remember the second word. The other spell sorta came out by accident. I’m sorry.”

“Killed by a distortion spell by accident. Thank you– an even more stupid way to die. I feel so much better,” Lucius growled. Severus smirked at him, and the specter hovered off the ground. 

“He doesn’t know where Remus is,” Harry said when McGonagall stopped hugging him and dried his face.

“How can you tell?” she asked.

“He doesn’t know. They brought him the Polyjuice already made. Voldemort and Bellatrix.”

“How did you know?” Malfoy worried.

“Remus Lupin,” Severus said, aiming his wand at the ghost once more. 

“What about him?”

“We want to know where Remus Lupin is.”

“Why should I tell you? Either way, I’m not coming back. Maybe I’d like Lupin for company on this plane,” Lucius taunted. 

“He doesn’t know,” Harry repeated impatiently. 

“How can you be sure? You aren’t touching him,” Snape replied, not taking his eyes off Lucius. 

“He’s everywhere in the room,” Harry laughed hysterically, choking on his tears. “On the ceiling, on the bed, on the floor. He’s all over the place. Little drops of Lucius are everywhere.”

“So Draco was right. You are becoming a seer. I owe my son an apology. Give us another demonstration,” Lucius grinned wickedly. 

“Don’t say another word,” Severus interjected, pushing Harry towards the door. Harry interrupted Severus’s rushed departure when he saw Lucius’s ghost following them. 

“Please. Where is Remus?” Harry begged.

“I’m not telling you a thing, Potter.”

“Please,” Harry begged again. 

“I wasn’t killed by a wizard. I was killed by a child! A simpering, sobbing child!” Lucius mocked, laughter bubbling up in him. His form shimmered as if getting emotional took up the strength that was required to remain visible. Harry's tears dried away as he got suddenly, terribly furious.

“You’ll tell me. You’ll tell everything,” Harry growled, pushing past McGonagall and past Snape and going over to the ghost. He put a hand through Lucius, and the ghost convulsed in response. Humor left Lucius’s face and fear coursed through him.

Images flooded Harry’s mind, flickering like the flame of a candle. Blood everywhere. Mangled body parts sprawled like a twitching carpet. Screaming. A triumphant cry of pleasure. A curved knife with a black handle darting in the light. A kicking, crying, hysterical form beneath him. Red eyes. Blood. A heartbeat. Voldemort’s face came into clear focus. A circle of black runes had been drawn on the floor. Harry caught his breath, shuddering wildly. He stared at the floor but could see nothing. Where had the runes gone? Maybe it wasn’t this floor? Had Lucius kept Harry here the entire time? He stared at the floor again, and Lucius got very worried. 

“Stop him,” Lucius demanded of Severus.

“Why? Afraid of what he might see? Afraid he’ll uncover your nasty, dark secrets?”

Harry continued shuddering. The runes weren’t on this floor. The runes had been on the floor around Voldemort, where he had been standing. Voldemort had been channeling spells into Harry while Lucius attacked him. 

Potter’s magic was opening a wide hole in the specter. Lucius’s form was becoming unstable again as Harry seemed to be absorbing him from the inside out. Harry could sense Voldemort in his own mind, moving like a poisonous cloud over the sea of images that Harry was absorbing from Lucius’s spirit. The cloud was trying to block what Harry was seeing. It became harder to concentrate. Every place Lucius had been, every image he had seen, every smell, every taste of the last few weeks went through Harry’s head. It was a long time searching before Harry encountered a glimpse of Remus. To his great disappointment, they were standing in the train station in London. Lucius hadn’t seen Remus since the day he returned from his extended trip abroad. 

A hand clasped Harry’s shoulder, scaring him. It cut the link between Potter and Malfoy.

“That’s enough, Harry. You’ve seen all you need to see.”

Dumbledore’s voice reached him over the distance, over the ringing in his ears. Harry sank down ungracefully on the floor. Both McGonagall and Snape dove for him, one to make sure he was all right and the other to get between him and Lucius. Voldemort receded slowly from the boy’s mind, screaming with frustrated anger. Harry shook with exertion, holding onto his forehead. His scar felt wet. He rocked back and forth, holding himself tight across the chest as he swayed. 

“Where is Remus Lupin?” Snape demanded of the unstable ghost. 

“He doesn’t know,” Harry whispered hoarsely. “I told you Voldemort and Bellatrix brought him the Polyjuice already completed.”

Voldemort’s furious screams echoed in Harry’s head, and he clutched his scar with a whimper. He faced the wall, heaving for breath, suddenly aware he was crying loudly again.

“Ah, my favorite view of you,” Malfoy mused. “Having you face down on that mattress, completely at my mercy, I have to say it was one of the highlights of my life. I’ll savor it forever.”

“Lucius,” Snape hissed, backing the ghost into a far corner.

“Aren’t we touchy?” Lucius smiled at Severus. “He could have been yours, Severus. All you had to do was obey the Master, and Potter would have been yours to keep.” 

“Just remember two things, Malfoy,” Harry rasped, trying to draw himself up with what little dignity he could dig up from the fathoms of his soul. 

“What’s that, Potter?” Lucius mocked him even while being threatened by Snape’s malevolent fury.

“First is, you’re dead. Forever.”

“As if I could forget,” Lucius feigned ennui. Harry advanced on Lucius, and the ennui faded fast. There was no time to pull a wand and do it gracefully. His words would have to be enough. Harry bore through the ghost with his eyes, hoping on some plane that Lucius could feel the hatred burning off of him. 

“Second is, Draco is out there, and he no longer has you to protect him. I promise you, if I get my hands on your son, I will treat him with all the mercy you showed me.”

Severus couldn’t help but smile at the Slytherin edge that Harry put to his voice when he said those words. They went right to the heart of Malfoy. Lucius’s face went dark with rage as Potter whirled away from him. 

“My son is more than a match for you, Potter, as I am.”

“If I’m drugged and restrained,” Harry mocked, heading down the steps. McGonagall gave him her arm to lean against. If she hadn’t, Harry would have hit the stairs on his knees.

“I have powerful friends, Potter. Don’t you go near my son!” Lucius warned. Harry refused to answer. McGonagall guided him down the stairs and away.

“Don’t worry, Harry. We’ll find Remus,” Minerva soothed. Dumbledore waited at the door as Snape glared in fury at Malfoy.

“Severus, Draco has become your responsibility. I expect you to look after him,” Lucius pressured.

"I'm not sure Narcissa will find that request to her liking," Severus replied. "She is his mother, after all."

“After all I’ve done for you, Severus, you owe me that much. I can't count the number of times I’ve saved your miserable life. You have to protect my son.”

“I swear to you I will look after Draco, but not for your sake. I will do it for Draco’s sake.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lucius panicked. 

“I’m afraid we must be going,” Snape answered. 

“Wait! Severus! I want to talk to Draco. Bring him here, and let me talk to him. I don’t know how long I can stay here. The Other Side is pulling at me even now. You have to let me talk to my son,” Lucius begged. His emotional state was making it difficult to remain solid. Wisps of him were escaping. 

“No, I don’t,” Snape replied, turning away. 

“Severus!” Lucius screamed. 

“Goodbye, Lucius,” Severus answered. Dumbledore gave the screaming apparition a final, chastising stare before closing the bedroom door.


	20. The Gifts

“Mr. Potter? It appears one of your presents arrived late,” Headmaster Dumbledore said as he entered the hospital ward. Harry sat up in bed in alarm, moving a flurry of newspaper pages onto the floor. “You haven’t opened the other presents yet,” Albus added.

“Not much in the mood for celebrating, sir,” Harry replied. He folded his legs up tight, hugging his knees. “Are you sure I have to stay another night in the hospital wing? Doctor Mesarik said two days was all I needed. I’ve been here a week.”

“One more night won’t put an end to your sanity. You need your rest. I’m not certain you’ll get that in the dorms. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are busy scheming about tomorrow night and what they’re going to do during the Faculty Yuletide Party.”

“But it’s not Christmas.”

“We postponed it until you were better. Then we decided that we could combine the Yuletide Party with the New Year's Party, and there you have it. I hope you don't mind.”

“But you didn't have to wait on me," Harry protested. "Have you received word from Remus yet?” he asked as Dumbledore put the black, satin box on the ground at the bottom of the Christmas tree that winked and blinked at him.

“No, I’m afraid not. But you shouldn’t worry, Harry. We’ll find him eventually. He and Miss Tonks will surface when they are able, and we will hear from them.”

“That’s what Professor Snape said yesterday when he brought me the papers to read.”

“I had hoped you’d been able to avoid the Daily Prophet of the last few days,” the Headmaster voiced his disapproval. 

“Having seen them, I understand why,” Harry replied. “They certainly have reliable sources of information, don’t they?”

“They know too many details about your attack and Lucius’s death for the articles to have been conjured from pure speculation.”

“They must have a mole,” Harry decided.

“I suspect as much,” Dumbledore agreed. 

“Who is for sale at the Ministry of Magic? Want me to go feel up the furniture and find out?” Harry tried a grim smile.

“Not as yet, no.”

“What about Bellatrix’s cloak?” Harry asked.

“Not yet, Harry. Not yet. When you are ready. When you are healed. When you are whole again.”

“I can’t believe Lucius’s funeral made the front page. There were articles about Draco as well,” Harry said, kicking another paper off the bed. This page had a black hole burned straight through it. 

“I was very disappointed to learn Draco chose to negate his father’s contract of donation to St. Mungo’s Hospital. A lot of good could be accomplished if that medical university could be built in Hogsmeade.”

“The article said he claimed the donation would have wrecked his inheritance, and that because the donation was made while his father was under the influence of a mood-altering spell, that it should have been declared null and void to begin with. He already sounds like an advocate,” Harry commented, running one hand over the covers to knock more newspaper pages away.

“No matter. St. Mungo’s will be able to come up with funding somehow. Maybe a bake sale,” Dumbledore pondered.

“It would take an awful amount of biscuits, wouldn’t it, sir?”

“You sure you wouldn’t like to open one present?” Dumbledore persuaded.

“Not until Remy comes back,” Harry declared impatiently.

“I’m the last person to suggest a negative attitude, Harry, but in the unspeakable event that Remus Lupin does not return, it goes without saying that you’re going to have several disappointed presents lying around the hospital ward. Madam Pomfrey isn’t going to like that when she gets back tomorrow.”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Where have you been?” Harry exclaimed as Severus entered the hospital ward from the other side. "I've been worried sick about you and Hagrid! Eight damned hours of torture, thank you so much!" Snape gave Potter a sour frown, tossing a packet of letters into his lap. 

“Your owl is exhausted. I sent her with Hagrid to get a good rest. She was down at the post office in Hogsmeade, trying to deliver all the mail that was waiting for you. Hagrid won't let her go on another mission until she is herself again. You don’t have to answer every letter you receive from the crackpots that are writing to you.”

“All right,” Harry agreed sullenly. "I'm sure they're not all crackpots. What's waiting at the post office?" 

“He hasn’t opened his gifts,” Dumbledore complained. Snape cast a stern glance at Harry. Potter ducked his eyes, sifting through the letters on his bed.

“Our agreement was that I would deliver your missive, and you would open one present for every hour I was gone,” Severus murmured, taking off his cloak and putting it over the chair.

“You deliberately took extra time so I’d have to open more presents,” Harry replied hotly.

“I was gone eight hours. I believe there are more than enough boxes under that tree to have kept you occupied.”

“Did something go wrong? What did they say?” Harry pressured him.

“Open their letter and read for yourself,” Snape motioned, selecting a large, brown envelope from the group. 

“No, you do it,” Harry said, pulling back. “It might be a howler.”

Snape sighed dramatically as he fished in his pocket and threw a golden key into Harry’s bed covers. As Severus unfurled the creamy-brown letter, Dumbledore picked up presents off the floor and brought them to Harry. Potter toyed with the ribbons but did not open the boxes.

“ ‘Dear Mr. Potter: After much consideration, the board of governors of St. Mungo’s Hospital has unanimously decided to accept your extremely generous donation towards the construction, operation, and staffing of the Wilhelmina Sapientia Malfoy School for Medical Training.’ ”

“Mr. Potter! Bake sale indeed,” the Headmaster glowed with a broad smile. Harry shrugged modestly. Dumbledore waited for Snape to continue, nudging a blue box into Harry’s hands.

“The bake sale is a good idea too,” Harry said. 

“Much consideration. They took all of ten minutes,” Snape grumbled. “ ‘We had your gems appraised by several experts, who determined that their approximate value would be more than enough to.....’,” Snape stopped again, sitting down in the chair with his cloak. 

“How much?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Enough to buy the whole of Mongolia and finance the invasion of Russia,” Snape growled. “Are you sure about this? It’s a lot of money, Harry.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said, tentatively picking at the blue present Dumbledore had pressed into his grip.

“Stupid boy. Suffice it to say, the governors are delighted to accept your donation. They grovel at your feet in gratitude, and ask that you answer two quick questions by mail or messenger,” Snape said, folding away the letter. 

“What are the questions?”

“What do you want to call the school you’re buying for them, and do you wish a position on the board of governors? That was apparently part of the contract they had held with Lucius before his untimely demise.”

“Don’t they like the name they have?”

“It was part of Lucius’s contract, and not their first choice, confidentially.”

“I don’t care what they name it,” Harry shrugged. Snape glared at him evenly. “I’ve never named a school before.”

“It’s to be a university, not a school. You’d better come up with a good name, because they’re depending on you,” Snape murmured. “There are certain responsibilities that go along with tossing around money this way. It’s your duty to come up with a name for the facility you’re buying.” 

Dumbledore chuckled, and Severus narrowed his eyes at him. 

“What’s wrong with naming it after the previous Mrs. Malfoy?” Harry wanted to know.

“Tell them you’re working on a name, and chose one later,” Dumbledore suggested.

“Universitas Ars Magica et Medicus,” Snape said as if spur of the moment, but it was clear he had given the matter thought.(AN 9)

“That sounds very educated. What does it mean?” Harry asked. 

“Guess you’ll have to study more Latin and find out,” Severus answered with a sharp, playful smile. “You should have an advocate study that contract before you sign and return it.”

“I don’t have an advocate,” Harry fretted. Dumbledore accepted the letter from Snape.

“What about the position on the board of governors?” the Headmaster asked.

“I don’t have any experience with that sort of thing,” Harry protested. “Wouldn’t they rather have someone who knows what to do?”

“No. They’d much prefer someone who will give them all kinds of money, and not pester them about how they want to spend it.”

“Now you’re being rude,” Harry muttered. 

“They’d like a naive, impressionable child who believes they can be trusted to do what is right and not line their own pockets with the funds he wants them to use for the good of the many, not the good of the few.”

“I do see what you’re driving at,” Harry responded to Severus. “I’m not completely stupid, you know?” Snape’s thin smile dripped with dark mirth. “I’ll accept a position on the board so I can keep an eye on them,” Harry added. 

“Splendid,” Dumbledore clucked happily. 

“Start opening presents, Potter,” Snape ordered. “We haven’t got all day. Eight hours. Eight presents. We had an agreement.”

“I don’t want to open them without Remy being here,” Harry protested sadly.

“Potter, I dragged myself all the way to London and all around London and all through London during the peak travel time for the holiday season to be your personal letter and gem courier. Start ripping paper this very instant.”

Harry picked at the wrapping of the gift in his grip, avoiding Snape’s dark eyes. 

“Make it snappy,” Snape barked.

“You keep yelling at me, and I’m going to curse you,” Harry said quietly, pulling the ribbon slowly off the present. “Maybe I’m tired. It takes a lot of energy to open gifts.”

“Who is it from? Read the card. Read the card!” Snape insisted. “I spent four hours on the train listening to the woman in my compartment talking to her pet goldfish. Don’t talk to me about tired, Potter. You don't know tired. You have never felt tired as I have felt tired. Don't you squint at me in that tone."

"She had a fish? On the train? Sitting on the cushions next to her?" Harry questioned cynically.

"She had the thing in a bowl on her lap. Hours and hours of sloshing about. And there was Hagrid, egging her on all the way. ‘What a good swimmer! What a lively swimmer!’ I wanted to burn my own eardrums out.”

Harry gave a tiny smile, easing his thumbs inside the wrapping paper.

“It’s from Hermione. It’s a book,” he said, caressing the velvet cover with the tip of his nose. It smelled like roses and pencil shavings. 

“What kind of book?” Dumbledore asked. Harry slid the book under his pillow.

“Indecent fiction, I believe. I’m going to read it later, when I have a bit of privacy,” he replied. 

“Next!” Snape barked, putting another present into Harry’s lap. 

“Has anyone told you you’re pushy and obnoxious sometimes?” Harry asked.

“Yes. Often. But it’s done us no good,” Dumbledore whispered to Potter. Harry smiled sadly. He was painfully aware that they were stepping lightly around him, trying to raise his spirits, even trying to spark anger in him to get him to respond to them and not drop further into the overwhelming depression that had consumed him the last few days. They meant well, he understood. But couldn't they let him wallow for a day or two? He needed time to deal with this, needed time to mull over his feelings and fears. 

“Has he agreed to go to the party tomorrow?” Snape asked Dumbledore.

“Has he what?” Harry gulped, almost dropping the black satin box in his grip. 

“Not yet,” the Headmaster clenched his teeth as he needled the Potions Master with a chastising glance. “I hadn’t gotten that far.”

“Is this from you?” Harry asked Snape.

“What makes you think I got you a present?” Severus pretended annoyance. 

“It’s shielded against detection. A very spiky cover spell. Just your style. Prickly and uncomfortable,” Potter replied. Snape took out his wand and leaned closer. “Don’t zap it,” Harry said, pulling it away from him. 

“I wasn’t going to. Who signed the card?”

“What card?”

“Maybe it’s inside the box.”

Harry peeled off the lid and peered inside. A poof of magic brought Snape and Dumbledore to their feet, wands raised and pointed at the box. A piece of parchment unfolded itself, and delicate script seeped up onto the page.

“It’s from Henri Le Clair,” Harry said, surprised. “He wants to wish me a happy holiday, and hopes that my....difficulties....” The boy’s voice dropped to a hush. Snape and Dumbledore both held their breaths and tensed up. Only yesterday, Harry had literally burst into tears because Snape had served him cinnamon tea with lunch. It had taken a calmative draught to put Harry to rights again, and as Potter was sleeping off his terrible scare, Snape had had to brew a second calmative for himself, right after he finished screaming at the house elves and making them get rid of every trace of cinnamon tea in the entire castle. “That my difficulties with the late Mr. Malfoy do not spoil my outlook on life. Apparently he also reads the Daily Prophet,” Harry added sourly. 

“How thoughtful of him to send you a gift,” Dumbledore said, relaxing once more and putting away his wand. Snape followed suit.

“The letter says you are not to show anyone what is in the box,” Severus said, peering sideways at the parchment. “Very well. We’ll be over here, putting the rest in order.”

“We won’t ask what it is,” Dumbledore promised. They pretended to be fascinated by the tree and its multiple flashing lights. “These aren’t Flitwick’s fairies,” Dumbledore commented, lifting his glasses and getting next to the tree.

“Miss Granger rigged a Muggle device with a flashing spell. Ghastly, aren’t they?” Snape said, picking up another handful of presents off the floor. Harry’s scream made them both spin around. Potter quickly stuffed the lid back on Henri’s box.

“Mr. Potter, you nearly gave me a seizure,” the Headmaster chided. 

“Is something wrong?” Snape asked. Harry was white as a sheet, and heaving for breath. His eyes were as wide as his glass frames. 

“No,” he lied, conjuring a broad, false nervous smile. 

“We can’t ask what it is, remember?” Dumbledore poked Snape in the arm.

“I’ll wager it’s a diamond the size of a man’s fist,” Severus murmured to Albus. “Next Potter will be buying himself a magical village all his own.”

Harry stifled a squeak of words (ohmygodohmygodohmygod) and set Henri’s box aside on the nearest table. His hands were shaking so badly that he had to hold them together to make the shaking less visible.

“Shall we have it carted off to Gringotts?” Dumbledore asked.

“I tell you, it’s annoying. If a man hangs around for five hundred years, he’s bound to accumulate enough wealth. But it’s so gauche for him to go around lavishing his money on attractive young men, smothering them with emeralds and rubies and such. I hope you’re not forgetting he nearly killed you,” Severus added pointedly to Harry. Potter gulped, eyeing the box with fear.

“Nope. Hadn’t forgotten.”

“Keep tearing paper, Potter. You’re falling behind, and these damn things are breeding like sheep,” Snape commented, piling presents on the bed. “There are three from Hagrid right there. He’s been adding presents every time he comes in here! I knew it!”

As Dumbledore and Harry watched, Snape shook out one sleeve, and small, rod-shaped, red and white striped boxes dropped like candy canes. 

“Where did those come from?” Dumbledore murmured as the boxes sat on the floor and began to enlarge from cylinders to flat squares.

“They were at the post office, waiting for owls to carry them,” Snape answered.

“Who are they from? How curious that they all match.....” Dumbledore noted. He bent down to read one of the tags, and Snape zapped the tags with his wand, burning them off. 

“No one,” Snape replied, voice rising.


	21. Epilogue - The Party

Harry started the day in no mood for the evening. As evenings are very hard to avoid once you’ve made it through an afternoon, he decided to make the best of it. The Faculty Yuletide Party was a raucous and loud affair filled with music and people and food and drink. Harry had been invited as a guest of honor, and the students present at the school were also invited. Potter's head was throbbing, and the rest of him ached as well. It appeared to Harry that an inordinate number of people were showing up at Hogwarts today, not just students returning from holidays earlier than normal, or parents of students, or faculty members, but people at large, from Hogsmeade and London and further away still. The party crowd included many more people than merely the school’s faculty. He was certain he saw at least one fellow walking around in Egyptian robes and a headdress, but that proved to be Bill Weasley. Everyone was intent on greeting Harry, shaking his hand, patting him on the back. 

“Let’s have a look at you,” Bill had said, coming up to him and shaking his hand very vigorously. “No, it takes much more than a stinking Malfoy to do you in, doesn’t it? So glad you’re all right. So very glad. Mum’s relieved too. Have you seen her this evening?" Bill grinned, pulling Harry into a tight hug, smacking a gin-smelling kiss against his ear. Harry did his best not to tense up. It would have sounded stupid if he tried to explain, but every hug had him chanting things to himself like, 'This is Bill, and Bill is safe, and it's okay to let Bill hug me.' It made Harry feel better, however foolish it might have seemed.

“She’s been by a couple times,” Harry said, gasping for breath as Bill hugged him again. “She keeps showing everyone today’s Daily Prophet.” 

Harry’s ribs still were aching from having taken several gouges from Malfoy’s knees and elbows. Having been hugged and squeezed by Mrs. Weasley minutes ago, for the third time this evening, Harry didn’t know how much more affection he could take. 

“Happy New Year!” Bill shouted, lifting his glass and refilling it from the punch bowl to Harry’s right. Harry watched him gulp down the brew, wondering how many glasses Bill might have already had. Bill refilled the glass and put it into Harry’s grip. “Here. Your turn.”

“I couldn’t.”

“None of that. We’re drinking to an occasion here,” Bill said, scooping up another glass and filling it to the brim.

“To what are we drinking?”

“You’re alive. I’m getting married. Lucius Malfoy is dead. I heard from reliable sources in attendance at his funeral that his right hand is missing.”

“You don’t say,” Harry ducked. 

“Vivà la resistance!” Bill shouted before downing his entire glass. 

Harry took in a cautious slurp from his. Stars shot through his field of vision as the potency of the liquor warmed his mouth and tickled his throat. 

Harry had spent much of the party this way, with people coming up to him, hugging him, shaking his hand, wishing him well, congratulating him on the death of Lucius Malfoy as if he had a reason to be proud that in a moment of utter panic he had unzipped a man by grabbing his genitals and using a distortion spell on him. The idea of it made Harry sick to his stomach. Maybe Harry shouldn’t be drinking. Bill refilled Harry’s glass for him, and topped off his own as well. Ron’s brother had been the first to offer Harry a drink, Potter smiled to himself. Maybe Bill knew better about this than Harry did. Maybe the drink would make him feel better instead of simply miserable. 

“What are we drinking to this time?” Harry asked.

“I’m going to be a father. You’re building a medical school.”

“I’m not really building it,” Harry blushed. “Not like they’ll have me stacking bricks and ladling on mortar and what-have-you.”

“Is it true you’ll be on the board?”

“Professor Snape recommended it, yes. So did Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“To Mr. Potter, Governor on the Board of the U.A.M.E.M. Sir, I salute you,” Bill grinned, finishing his third, or maybe fourth drink since he’d been standing here. 

“To Mr. Bill Weasley, father to be, husband to be! Who are you marrying?” Harry asked, gulping his entire drink. He missed Bill’s answer, because the world was spinning. He opened his eyes to find Bill patting him on the back, lifting his arms up.

“Easy there. Easy,” Bill said as Harry drew in a deep breath and coughed and sputtered like a drowning man.

“You trying to kill ‘im or something?” Ron demanded of his brother, taking Harry’s arm and dragging him away from Bill. “Pouring alcohol down him like he’s a bucket without a bottom. Ought to have your head examined,” he called back at his brother. “You all right?” Ron asked Harry, patting his back, leaning him against a near-by wall. 

“Mm hmm,” Harry nodded, hiccuping and coughing still.

“Say, you know that box you put under your bed? The black satin one?”

“Yes?”

“Well, we’ve got a problem.”

“Have we? Why is Bill wearing that outfit?”

“An accident at work. He's stuck in those clothes until the curse he tripped can be cracked. That's not what I'm here to talk about. It seems Dobby thought your box smelled like dirty socks, and he opened it.”

“Uh oh.”  
“He screamed and fainted and dropped the box down over the balcony into the Common Room. Everyone in the Tower at the time got to see what was inside the box too.”

“Uh oh.”

“Now Hermione and I are not going to talk about what we saw in the box. But Seamus and Neville are in shock. Dean is babbling about curses and spells and what to do, and he’s worried if it’s safe to sleep in the same dorm with you. Several of the girls ran crying to Professor McGonagall. She’s sure to come looking to talk to you.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Mate, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

“About what?”

“Where the HELL did you get that?”

Harry responded with a coy smile. Ron accepted Harry's silence for what it was, not questioning him any further. He reached up and straightened the collar of Harry's cloak, and adjusted the simple gold broach that held it closed.

“Where did you get this? The clasp is about to break. It's older than you are." 

"I found it in Remy's room. I didn't think he would mind if I borrowed it." 

“No. He won't mind," Ron agreed. "You stay here, and I’ll go find Hermione. She’ll be able to talk sense to you. Stay here. Stay right here.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, sitting down against the wall. Liquor poured through him, filling him with warmth and happiness. He spotted Bill Weasley across the room, dancing cheek to cheek with Fleur Delacour, and assumed that was a pretty good answer to the previous question.

But didn't that mean that Bill and Fleur hadn't waited until they were married? Was she already expecting? Harry watched them again. She was glowing warmly, her face like a full moon as she gazed at Bill. His face was no less round with delight, and the effect was amplified by the strange gold and onxy headdress that masked his red hair. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that that's what the face of love looked like.

Harry scanned around the room. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were also dancing together. Several other couples were parading around the floor, arm in arm, belly to belly, all cozy and warm. Harry leaned his head against the wall and sighed. The happiness from the alcohol drifted out of him and into the ground. He trembled with cold.

He was never going to have that, was he? Who was going to want him like this? Imperfect. Damaged in handling. Whatever. He wasn't going to have that, was he? Dancing cheek to cheek, his head on someone’s shoulder, moving slowly to romantic music. Harry put one hand against the stones and concentrated his magic, trying to pick up the vibes as the couples moved across the floor. Like seeking candles in a dark forest at night, he sensed first one warm spot, then another, and another. The glow that burned from the Weasleys alone was spreading to other couples in the room. Harry picked up his hand and shifted his seat on the floor.

The cold stones felt extremely good against his still-sore backside and hips. No amount of pain-killers would reduce the humility of what he’d endured, but knowing that Malfoy was dead, and knowing that the right hand of said Mr. Malfoy was in that little black satin box made accepting the pain a great deal easier. Maybe Harry was happy someone finally knew what was in the box. Wow. Harry would have paid good money to have seen the expressions on the faces of the people in the Common Room when that pasty, white paw came flying down over the balcony and landed in their midst. He grinned stupidly to himself and felt his happiness returning. 

“Mr. Potter? What are you doing on the floor?” 

Harry slowly raised his head, and blinked at Severus Snape. He tilted his head to one side and smiled up at him. Why was it that every time Harry started feeling depressed, merely having Snape show up wiped that away? Did Snape know how to dance, he wondered. 

“The floor is cold. It feels good. It sinks into you when you sit on it this way.”

“I was afraid you had left the room. I couldn't see you down here,” Snape replied, putting careful hands around Harry’s waist and pulling him to his feet. “Have you been drinking?”

“Just one,” Harry whispered. 

“Out of the punch bowl?”

“No. Out of a cup. Where have you been?”

“What do you mean?” Severus asked.

“I was searching for you too. I saw you leave a half an hour ago.”

“Will you come up to the Astronomy Tower with me?”

“It’s almost midnight. We’ll miss the big moment.”

“Come up the tower with me,” Snape persuaded. Harry’s eyes got really wide, and he felt his mouth open.

“Why?” he asked, almost irritated and a tiny bit afraid. “You promised Remy you weren’t going to do that sort of thing while his back was turned.”

“I know what I promised Mr. Lupin, and that is not why I want you to come to the tower. Someone is up on the tower who would like to talk to you, someone who cannot come into the courtyard or the great hall.”

“Why not?”

“The big bonfire out there.”

“Is it Remy?”

“No. I’m sorry. It’s not.”

“Do you believe we’ll ever find him?” Harry asked, his eyes growing bright with tears.

“Yes, I do,” Severus replied. “Can you walk?”

“I had one drink, ONE DRINK,” Harry fussed. “Yes, I can walk.”

“Follow me then.”

Harry traced behind Snape, moved in the same pattern across the stone floor as they made their way around dancing couples and past the food tables and into the outer foyer. A quick pattering of feet across the foyer from them made Harry look around. Hermione and Ron were running down the other set of stairs as Harry followed Severus up the opposite set. Harry waved at them happily. Ron and Hermione made the same shocked face, and started climbing back up the stairs. They were sure to intersect at one point or another, Harry was certain.

He climbed and climbed behind Snape, watching his cloak billow in his wake behind him like the dark sail of a very black ship. Maybe a ghost ship. Maybe one of those ghost ships that wandered the sea, terrifying sailors and making grown men tremble with fear. Harry reached forward to grasp at Snape’s cloak.

“Do you need help?” Severus asked, reaching back to take Harry’s hand.

“I’m all right.”

“Why are you gouging me in the backside?” Snape paused, and moved Harry up ahead of himself on the stairs. He kept a careful arm around him, walking him along.

“Severus?” Harry ventured. 

“Mr. Potter, what have I told you about calling me by my first name?”

“Professor Snape?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

“I...wanted to tell you...I’m sorry about what I did to Lucius.”

“Don’t be.”

“He was your friend.”

“When it suited his fancy.”

“You loved him.”

“Yes, I did. But he does not deserve your sympathy.”

“But I am sorry,” Harry persisted.

“That speaks well of you,” Severus complimented him, rubbing his back warmly. 

“I had a happy thought,” Harry announced. 

“Did you?” Snape rasped, colliding with Harry when Potter stopped on the stairs again. "It happens to us all now and again. You’ll get over it.”

“You are such a sour puss,” Harry muttered. Snape stopped, and gave Harry a strange look. "No. You are THE sour puss," Harry persisted. Severus tried out a tired chuckle.

“Mr. Potter, it's very possible I am the sourest puss you will ever have the misfortune to encounter. But now is not the time to ponder the mysteries of life, nor to question what makes one a sour puss, nor to wonder what has to happen to a person for them to become THE sour puss as you so eloquently put it. Will you please move your....bottom along faster? It's going to be daylight in six hours and we have half a tower to go. We’re in a bit of a rush,” Snape murmured.

Puzzled by Snape, Harry hurried along as well as he could. At the top of the Astronomy Tower, the door was open. Harry felt his way in the dark around the door frame, and outside onto the stones. 

“There is an inordinate amount of fornication taking place down there. Cover your eyes, petite chère,” a man’s deep voice said. There were three people at the rim of the tower, looking over the side. 

“This is a sacred occasion. How about some propriety, people!” The second one was a woman, and she was shouting loudly into the blowing winds.

“What are they doing?” The third voice belonged to a younger woman. “Are they all drunk?” she wondered. 

“Is that...is that Volkova? Who is she with?” the man asked. 

“I dunno. I can’t see from here."

“Shall I whistle for her?”

“No. You’re too drunk for a fight tonight. Don’t make a bad impression on Raphaella.”

Harry got tentatively closer when he recognized it was Illumina Snape and Henri Le Clair. The two vampires were leaning over the top, studying the people below who were in the castle courtyard. Between them was a third vampire, a young woman perhaps twenty with dark hair and red eyes surrounded by too-much-eyeliner. She was a head taller than Illumina, but not quite as tall as Henri was. She was the first to face Harry and Snape. She tugged anxiously on Illumina’s arm to get her attention. 

“Could you at least try keeping a lower profile?” Severus said, following Harry out onto the tower roof. “Honestly!” he chastised them. 

“Ah, there you are!” Henri exclaimed, turning around unsteadily. “Monsieur Potter, merci. Thank you so much for allowing me a chance to speak with you in person.”

Snape stayed at Harry’s back as the teen moved closer. Harry put out a hand, and Le Clair shook it anxiously. The younger vampire gaped at Harry, her eyes rounding and her mouth dropping open. She took a step away, and put her hand on Illumina’s arm. Snape’s ex-wife gave a soft ‘meep’ of pain.

“Thanks for the emeralds,” Potter said softly. Henri turned to Illumina, who was equally unsteady. Harry wondered if Henri would feel him concentrating his magic, if he tried to use his clairvoyance on the vampire. He decided against it, not wanting to arouse Le Clair’s anger. But how interesting it would be to see the centuries of history that Le Clair had lived. 

“Merci pour les bijoux,” Illumina repeated for Henri.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” Henri said to Harry. “C’est rien. Speak up. I’ve got a cold, and my ears are all clogged.”(AN 10) 

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I didn’t know you could catch a cold.”

“I should know by this point not to bite sick people,” Henri shrugged. “It’s a bitch trying to fly by sonar with clogged ears.”

Illumina and Henri screeched with laughter among themselves for several seconds. The younger female vampire laughed as well. Snape rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. Harry tried not to laugh, and it was very difficult. Apparently this was very funny to the vampires. And it was so odd to see them laughing, doubled-over with humor.

“Desolé,” Henri said, quieting himself and shushing Illumina as well. (AN 11) “We over-indulged tonight of those who also over-indulged, and as you can see, we’re having trouble working out the alcohol. I’m here about serious business. I don’t mean to make a scene.”

“Not at all,” Harry said. Snape was stuck in permanent-frown mode though.

“May I introduce Raphaella?” Henri said, indicating the young woman. Illumina nudged her forward, and she smiled shyly, showing delicate fangs. 

“Hello,” Harry said, shaking her hand too. It was the only polite thing to do, really. 

“You have the same death day,” Le Clair explained. “Or should I say, near-death day in your case.”

“Harry Potter,” the girl said to no one in particular, stars glittering in her eyes. Henri chuckled and bent to whisper to her.

“Don’t even think it, my pet. I took one sip, and spent a month retching up, my head spinning, my magic utterly beyond control, delirious, out of my mind. He’s bad for you. Completely.”

“I see you’ve been to St. Mungo’s recently,” Severus murmured. Raphaella’s face clouded with emotion. She let go of Harry’s hand, and hid in Le Clair’s shadow. 

“The Spirit will put you where you are needed,” Le Clair replied to Snape. “I sensed someone who needed guidance, someone without a mentor. It is what I do best, help those in need.”

“Hmm,” Snape commented as Le Clair’s eyes trailed over Harry, filled with equal parts of desire and regret. 

“This mess, this debacle, this situation with that farm animal of dubious parentage, this Lucius Malfoy. Has it been resolved to your satisfaction?” Henri asked of Harry, drawing himself up, squaring his shoulders very stiffly, like a soldier awaiting inspection by a general. Harry had a quick thought– maybe Le Clair had had some experience with boards of governors? Should Harry ask for advice? Would that be against etiquette? How was one supposed to behave with someone who first wants to fuck you and eat you, and the next minute is polite and formal as a diplomat? 

“Yes. Thank you,” Harry replied. “Merci.”

“You’re most welcome. You liked my trinket, did you?” Henri laughed with excitement, his chest swelling up and sinking down as he breathed quickly. Illumina poked him in the arm, and he fished around in his cloak. “These I brought for you,” he said, offering a small box to Harry with a courtly bow. Potter took a step out of Snape’s reach in order to accept the offering. Henri’s eyes went a darker shade of red, and Snape growled under his breath.

“That’s close enough, Le Clair.”

Le Clair heeded the sound of Snape’s annoyance. He slipped the ribbon-bedecked box to Harry, and moved back a safe distance.

“What’s in there?” Harry asked, almost afraid to look inside. Was Lucius missing any other parts that might fit in this box?

“I saw the Daily Prophet today, and knew what you did with mes bijoux, and I felt you deserved....I felt....open them. You’ll love them.”

Harry squinted in the darkness, and Snape pulled out his wand, lighting the tip with a very dim Lumos spell. There was a name in gold lettering on the small box inside. Severus read it, and gasped out loudly. 

“That’s hardly an appropriate gift for a boy his age,” Snape said as Harry pulled off the heavy paper and encountered an innocent-enough box of chocolates. Harry smiled, digging into the crinkly paper to draw out an almond-shaped bon-bon. He put it carefully into his mouth, well aware that Le Clair and Snape were snarling at each other. Illumina tittered quietly, adjusting her jacket to a more comfortable position. Raphaella whispered to Illumina, and she laughed again. Illumina shushed herself, but the girl kept giggling. 

“Thanks,” Harry beamed. The chocolate began to melt on his tongue, and his face went warm and tingly. Harry felt as if he had dipped his tongue into something altogether more than chocolate. It draped itself around his mouth, and seemed to be sucking back at him. Henri was extraordinarily pleased that Harry was happy. Snape was bristling with fury.

“In small doses, perhaps,” Henri smiled at Snape nervously. “I meant to reward him for being such a good boy.” Severus heaved with far-from-silent fury. “Quelle horreur. Il est jalous comme un tigre,” Henri whispered to Illumina, who tittered softly. (AN 12) 

All of Harry was warm and tingly by that point. He sat down on the stones, continued chewing the candy, and savored the rush of blood in his limbs. Was it possible he could rub these chocolates all over his body? Melt them in a tub and soak in them for a while?

“Severus, there’s no harm in it,” Illumina interjected as Snape approached Le Clair as if spoiling for a fight. “Be civil.”

“Civil?” Snape breathed. 

“I wanted only to make him feel better, after what he’s been through,” Henri defended. 

“He doesn’t need you to make him feel better with sexual candy,” Severus whispered, hoping Harry wasn’t paying attention. Raphaella ventured forward, and Harry offered her the box tentatively. She took one of the candies, and sat down next to Harry on the ground. 

“Isn’t that sweet? Our children, together.” Henri smiled at them. Snape growled at the young vampire, and she leapt to her feet. She got away from Harry, hiding in Le Clair’s shadow once more. 

“Severus,” Illumina chided Snape. 

“We will go now. Don’t want to overstay our welcome. Happy New Year. Be safe,” Le Clair said. “Au revoir, Harry.”

“Bye,” Harry whispered, waving slowly. “Merci.”

“C’est rien, mon chèr,” Henri said. (AN 13) He grabbed Snape, pecked a kiss on his cheek. Once Henri let go, Illumina also grabbed Severus, gave him a kiss on the mouth, and grinned fetchingly at him. Le Clair climbed up onto the edge of the wall, and tugged Raphaella up next to him. 

“It’s pretty far down,” she commented squeamishly. “Have I mentioned this is not my favorite bit about this whole vampire thing? What if we land in the bonfire?”

“We are not going to land in the fire. We'll change long before that. It's instinct, Raphaella. Remember to concentrate. You want to fly. You want to fly. You want to fly.”

Henri took a hold of her and jumped. She screamed, and as they fell, the scream mutated into the piercing cry of a bat. 

“You ought to have a piece or two of that chocolate yourself, love,” Illumina said, once she had stopped looking over the wall. 

“Why isn’t the girl with her family?” Severus asked.

“They refused to take her home because they were afraid she’d infect their other children. They returned to Portugal without her.”

“She speaks good English.”

“Her mother is English.”

“Ah.”

“Henri and I found her in Toadvine’s ward, trying to slit her wrists. Apparently Toadvine neglected to explain to her that suicide won’t work unless she throws herself into fire or sunlight. Henri asked her to come with us. She accepted.”

“Did he use magic on her to coerce her?”

“No. She was lonely for company, and we obviously can relate to her situation. She’s a good child, very nice company. It’s very ironic, really. Henri and I were talking about this only weeks ago. I’ve always wanted a daughter, you know.”

“I know,” Severus replied tenderly. Clearly the young woman was not the only one lonely for company. “Why were you and Monsieur Le Clair at St. Mungo’s?”

“Shopping for groceries?” Illumina mused. She cocked her head to one side. “You do know Volkova is running up the tower steps, don’t you?”

“What? You expect her to hear screaming vampires and see dropping people turning into bats and not come to investigate?” Severus asked. 

“She’s slowing down. Is she limping?” Illumina laughed. “The minute Henri read what had happened to Harry, he took matters into his own hands. One second we’re having a polite dinner in London, the next second he’s got to see a friend of his in the morgue at St. Mungo's. That was the day before Lucius's funeral. What a send-off! You'd think he discovered a new continent or something. Sixty-two horse-drawn carriages and a band of professional keeners? That was laying it on thick, wasn't it? I've never seen the like in all my years. You didn't go, did you?”

“No," Severus answered simply. Illumina blinked at his curtness and frowned at him. Clearly she understood right away this was a touchy subject. "You have friends at the morgue? Why did you go there?" Snape asked.

“Morbid curiosity. I heard what happened to Harry and Lucius and wanted to see for myself. I was worried you had done it until Henri told me about the article.”

“If Lucius hadn’t already been dead, I’d’ve considered it. But there are other things at stake here, no matter what my personal feelings on the matter are.”

"You can't tell me what Lucius did surprised you," she persisted impatiently. "I warned you what kind of prick he was years ago. If Remus and Sirius hadn't come along when Lucius cornered me under the Quidditch pitch in 7th year and tried to attack me, you'd've been putting Malfoy in the ground years ago, dear. It would have taken a teeny, tiny box too, not some fifteen thousand galleon, gold and oak monstrosity like what they had the bastard laid out in a couple days ago. But you never listened to me about Lucius, and you were never going to listen to me about Lucius, and there's really no point in going on about it, is there?" she concluded, her voice rising and suddenly dying off calm again.

"No," Snape said curtly.

"Well, you weren't going to save him from the path he chose, and you spent too much of your life trying to. There. I said it. That's what I needed to say." 

"If you're finished...." Snape said dryly.

If you’re still in contact with He Who Must Not Be Named, you should warn him that there’s a particular wizard vampire who has gotten it in his head that he’s going to protect Harry Potter from the forces of darkness and the Deusredeti. Setting aside of course the fact that the Deusredeti consider vampires paramount among the forces of darkness. Volkova’s just about up here. I should get going.”

She hesitated, staring behind Severus. Snape followed her gaze. Harry was lying on his back, dropping another chocolate into his open mouth. Potter moaned and trembled, closing his eyes. He was radiating the kind of physical heat that was making the stones around him glow with warmth. 

“Don’t let him eat the whole box at once, or he’ll be rubbing on the furniture,” Illumina warned with a small laugh. 

“Potter, give me those,” Snape said impatiently. He felt Illumina vanish into the sky, and saw in the distance as one tiny fluttering form joined up with two tiny fluttering forms underneath the limbs of the trees of the Forbidden Forest. The door to the tower banged open, and Volkova emerged, panting and horrified. 

“Hi,” Harry said, waving to her. Volkova ran to the edge of the wall, and gaped into the night. She spun around to face Snape, lowering her glowing wand. 

“Le Clair?” she questioned. 

“Would you like some candy?” Harry asked. Snape offered her the box, smiling wickedly. Volkova gave an indistinct shout of fury, sputtering words in Italian and Russian as she threw her hands in the air. 

“There were three of them. Three!” she said, finally speaking English again. 

“Have some candy. Forget you saw them. Don't make me obliviate you,” Severus said. Anna stared at the box, and took it from him. She dug out one of the candies, and sat on the ground next to Harry. With a forlorn squeak, Volkova popped the candy in her mouth. She immediately caught her breath and stifled a sensuous moan.

“He bought piscari-osculari for you?” she gasped at Harry. (AN 14)

“You’re a former vampire-hunter, aren’t you?” Potter asked, his eyes twinkling in a mischievous way. 

“I am. Yes. Former. Former,” she stressed.

“He’s not all bad,” Harry said. Volkova raised a brow at him.

“I heard the scream and thought you jumped. That’s why I rushed up here.”

“Of course,” Snape said snidely, sitting down on Harry’s other side. Volkova gave him the box of candy. 

“Delightful. My mortal enemy has consumed another victim, recruited her into his coven of malevolent creatures, and you’ve managed to convince Mr. Potter that Le Clair is ‘not all bad’,” Volkova muttered at Snape around Harry. "He tried to kill you," she reminded Harry.

"Yeah," Harry snorted. "I hadn't forgotten, you know? I'm not completely stupid. But he's apologized. I think he means it. And he was very nice tonight."

Volkova put a hand under Harry's chin and made him face her. "He was nice to you because he...he has....um....people don't go around buying expensive, charmed chocolates for someone they don't have designs against," she said as carefully as she could. "He is interested in you. That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's still VERY interested in you, in a particular fashion which one does not explain in polite company. He's insatiable, and he's very bad luck. I have studied him my entire life, watched him convert companions year after year. All of them have died."

"How many have you killed?" Harry asked boldly. Volkova blanched uncomfortably.

"Touché," Severus mused.

"Who was the young one?" Volkova asked Snape.

"The young woman you saw was converted by another vampire, not by Le Clair. She was abandoned by her family. Le Clair has taken her in to tutor her," Severus explained.

“As he did with your wife?” Anna questioned.

“Former wife.”

“Hmm. Former. Of course,” Volkova smirked. “So. Le Clair is ‘not all bad’? Shall we give him a Nobel Prize? What about what he did to my grandfather?”

“He gave me Lucius’s hand,” Harry blurted, quickly covering his mouth with his hand and laughing wickedly.

“He gave you what?” Anna asked.

“Which one?” Snape asked.

“Right,” Harry said. All three jerked in surprise when shouts below rang out in time with fireworks exploding above their heads.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”

Wild merriment continued below. Bells rang in the distance in Hogsmeade Village. Sprays of fireworks lit the sky there as well. Several lightning bolt shapes appeared in the showers of red above the tower. Harry put a hand to his scar, not in pain, but in recognition. 

“It’s a Hand of Glory,” Snape turned to tell Harry. Potter bumped a platonic kiss to his cheek, and dodged away before he could be reprimanded, because the kiss had come narrowly close to landing on Snape’s lips. Harry put a similar kiss on Volkova’s cheek, and rose carefully to his feet. “It’s a good luck charm,” Severus whispered, thoroughly perplexed.

Ron and Hermione burst up onto the tower roof, gasping for breath, panting like crazy. Harry waved to them.

"What took you so long?" he questioned before heading back down the steps. 

“Where are you going?” Ron gasped. "Harry!? We're here to warn you-- McGonagall's on her way up!" 

“Follow him,” Hermione prodded.

As the bells and fireworks continued, and Ron and Hermione vanished back down the steps, Volkova got to her feet. Snape climbed up as well. They were left standing on the roof, staring at each other before turning awkwardly away. Each rubbed their cheek when they saw the chocolatey kiss Harry had left on the other person.

“I believe this is the point where we exchange witty, sharp remarks and retreat to ponder what the new year will bring,” Volkova said, her usual brashness softening momentarily.

“Thank you for your help with Harry, for your dedication to protecting him,” Severus murmured. “I appreciate that your special skills make you ideal for the job. Whether I like you or not, I understand that’s why Dumbledore wants you around.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, looking worried. "Did you compliment me? A new year's resolution, Severus? Shall we bury our grudges and try to get along?" 

“Being able to appreciate the usefulness of your killing skills doesn’t mean I think you’re any less of a back-stabbing, murderous zealot,” Snape clarified haughtily, moving to the door.

“Zealot?” she echoed. “At least I believe in something besides my own superiority. Where are you going? 

"To hide these chocolates from Harry," Snape replied, disappearing into the dark tower.

Finite


End file.
